


I Never Agreed to Be Your Holy One

by Aria_i_Adagio



Series: The Opposite of Falling [4]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, Bipolar Disorder, Blood Magic, Canonical Character Death, Dissociation, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Illness, Multi, Novelization, OT3, Original Ending, Tarot, long fic, mmf, people trying to do better this time, poly route, semi-canon compliant (for now)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:46:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 105,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25009441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aria_i_Adagio/pseuds/Aria_i_Adagio
Summary: Tasked by an imperious Countess Nadia with determining the culprit of Count Lucio’s murder, Dema discovered that the murder is closely tied to her missing memories. Asra was her lover before he was her protector - why couldn’t he just have told her? She can’t quite remember the accused Julian, but she knows that she loves him fiercely, and the thought of losing him pushes her closer and closer to the point where she’s scared that her mind will break. Even if the damn fool is convinced that dying will let him return with a cure for the plague that threatens to resurge in the city.There’s a damned ghost, goat - something - that appears to be preoccupied with her existence. And her cards have decided to quite literally start talking to her.Maybe she’s already mad?Rather darker.  Rather trippier.  Here, when we say ‘I’m having an existential crisis,’ we damn well mean it.
Relationships: Apprentice/Asra (The Arcana), Apprentice/Asra/Julian Devorak, Apprentice/Julian Devorak, Asra/Julian Devorak, Lucio/Valerius (The Arcana)
Series: The Opposite of Falling [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1594276
Comments: 48
Kudos: 31





	1. Half Remembered Names and Faces, but to Whom Do They Belong?

**Author's Note:**

> Work title from Depeche Mode, "Barrel of Gun"
> 
> Previously on The Opposite of Falling...
> 
> Tasked by an imperious and confusing Countess Nadia with determining the culprit of Count Lucio’s murder, Dema has mostly discovered that whatever happened is closely tied to her own missing memories. Asra was her lover before he was her protector and teacher, and why couldn’t he just have told her that? She can’t quite remember the accused and innocent Julian, but she knows that she loves him fiercely. Loves him fiercely, and the thought of losing him again pushes her closer and closer to the point where she’s scared that her mind will break.
> 
> She found a surprising ally in Consul Valerius, who’s drowning his own grief in alcohol, has decided that he made a mistake having Devorak arrested three years ago, and seems to find her a bit this side of tolerable, unlike everyone else around him. But the city’s taste for bread and circuses is too strong and the mob condemns Julian to hang. Not without his help of course - damn fool of a man - because he’s convinced that dying will let him return with a cure for the plague that threatens to resurge in the city.
> 
> There’s a damned ghost, goat, ghoul - something - that appears to be preoccupied with her existence. And her cards have decided to quite literally start talking to her.
> 
> Maybe she’s already mad?
> 
> The first two parts retold the storyline up until Julian’s hanging and revealed much of the backstory between Dema, Julian, and Asra. Part three covered Asra and Julian’s relationship during the plague.
> 
> We pick up just after Dema and Asra have returned to the palace after Julian’s execution.
> 
> Cw: dissociation, body horror, implied self harm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PAY ATTENTION TO THE CONTENT WARNINGS: dissociation, body horror, implied self harm
> 
> Note: This picks up from Julian’s hanging at the end of [A Long Way to Go to Die](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22230961/chapters/53081266). Valerius is a decent person in my version, and he has sort of adopted MC, for reasons. I’ve included the last page or so of that fic as a lead-in. 
> 
> Chapter title is from "The Windmills of Your Mind" which has been recorded by various peeps, but the Dusty Springfield version is what I have in mind.  
> "White Rabbit" by Jefferson Airplane is also a good mood for this.

* * *

_What it’s like to see the one you love die..._

I close the door, rest my head on the wood, and take a deep breath. It’s . . . no, _it’s not done_ . And he’s not dead, not really. He’s not going to stay dead. But there’s nothing more that I can do - not a single _damned_ thing - and if there’s nothing else to do, no goal to move toward, no action to take, then there’s nothing to steady myself against. Nothing to be fixed and nothing - no point fixed in space. No bridge between right now and what’s next. I think I might be falling.

The varnish on the door is thick and slick and polished beneath my fingertips, obscuring the grain that should be there, nothing to stop me from sliding further down against it. Might not even be actual wood, just a facsimile. Clever trick. _Whose trick?_ Substitution of the fake for the real, and if enough heat can be called to fingertips it will melt beneath them instead of burning. Melt beyond any semblance of solidity, until I fall forward in the viscous, sticky mess. Or it's just regular wood, and all the worrying is a mind trick. _My mind’s trick? Some other mind’s trick?_

Or maybe neither. None of this is quite tangible. I exist - _do I?_ \- a few inches to the side of my body. Forced out by some intolerable pressure. Can see my fingertips, nails cut trimmed short just how I always keep them, but what I feel isn’t the spot beneath them. Can't get back in. The ghost of a thin line presses down on the inside of the left arm. Or the sensation of one. A lover’s trailing touch? _“Because I could not stop for Death . . .”_ Cold - _so cold_ \- radiating out from deep, deep in the bone, deep in the marrow. Marrow that must be all wrong itself, all blackened and twisted, and replaced by some viral thing that should not be there. 

That fine - so fine - edge against the left arm. A way back in? A way to let all the tension escape? Like steam from a tea kettle at full boil. Ice sublimating into vapor, escaping free into the air. Clutch my right hand - the hand that is still mine - around the arm - the left arm - to my chest - keep it. The bite of nails. Still off, not quite there, not quite mine, not quite right.

Then sandalwood, cinnamon, smokey black tea - Asra - wraps around me, and he's holding both wrists - mine and not mine - thumbs moving in circles against skin, chin against shoulder, chest to back, and outside pressure counterbalances, cancels all the wrongness inside. Homeostasis. Equilibrium. Tolerable to slip back into skin.

He sways gently, rocking me and whispering in my ear. “Shh . . . shh. I'm here. You're here. I'm with you.” He tugs me backward slowly, step by step until he can lay me down on the bed, and curl around me, still holding my hands, still whispering in my ear, reminding me to breathe. Eventually, sobs start to slow and breaths get closer to regular. Asra quiets, tucking his head against the back of my neck as his hands unwrap from around my wrists.

“Valerius is right.” His voice tremors as he speaks. “You shouldn't, you shouldn't have had to take care of me. Not today.”

I turn over and curl into Asra, tucking my head into the hollow of his neck and wrapping one arm around him. The other will be numb soon enough where I’m laying on it, but with the pins and needles of a mundane numbness, and at least for a few minutes, I can cuddle as close as I want. As close as I need.

“I'm so sorry, just, everything.” Apologies, explanations flow faster from his mouth. “I felt everything all at once. All the yesterdays when I was powerless. I was a child again, sitting on the doorstep, begging passersby to tell me if they'd seen my parents. Did they know when they were coming home? Watching Muri forced into the stadium, when you and I fought, and when I got back home and, and . . . And not being able to save Ilya now.” He stops talking and shakes once again, starting to cry once again. The only thing I can do is hold him tighter, because his words, his words are too much for me and too much for him, and neither of us is strong enough to contain our own pain much less that of another. So the only thing is to hold on and hope we don't drown. “It was like being crushed because I couldn't do anything. Not those times, and not this time. Not even with all my magic.”

So many of the things he does are to escape abjection. Constantly seeking new spells - new powers - from his books, his single minded belief that magic is what you do to make what you want true. Literally running away when he can't realize what he wants. Anything to escape from being that lonely, abject child crying for parents who didn't return. 

Running from suffering with no meaning. Mud, sticky, clinging to shoes, sucking them away, and then to feet. Clutching, pulling back and back again. And is that so hard to understand? No purpose, no order. Just one thing after another. Just disorder. Just everything sticking together, mixing together, but into a suspension that will all fall apart back again. Disparate parts hung together. Stable for the moment but waiting for gravity to act on them. 

All ten fingers are mine, but they start to itch. Some new, outside irritant. “Where are my cards?”

“What?” Asra’s response is a mumble.

“My cards.” I pull away from him and scramble out of bed. My satchel is on the coffee table, and I kneel on the floor, rummaging. When my hands wrap around the deck, it feels warm, even through the silk. The exhale of breath from lungs could almost be considered controlled, except any sense of control fled with the breath, and hands are unwrapping the cards. Silk drifts to the floor. Cards shuffle. Deal. Moving by themselves. One across the table. Another right behind it. Three in a row beneath that. Then four beneath the first. Three beneath the middle. Four beneath the last. Spots in vision. Breath in. Lungs must have air.

“Dema.” The voice is distant. “Darling. What are you doing?” Syllables rolling over in waves. Another voice, more distant still. _Turn the top one._

Fingers brush over the card. Find the edge. Turn it.

The Fool. Reversed.

The waves are crashing at the bottom of a cliff. Hands on a waist, fingers tight. Holding back? Pushing forward? Can’t say. Can’t speak. Is that a dog barking? Lips can’t move. Not without permission control from outside. 

_Second now. Turn it over._

The Tower. Hands that were holding shove forward and down. Or maybe they just can’t check the motion. Palms crash against the smooth top of the table. Waves, cold, so very, very cold wash over. Shock.

I gasp and clutch my hands to my chest. The Tower is in front of me, but the images on it move beneath my eyes, the flames growing, swirling, whirling about the bodies of the two figures falling, until it consumes the card and spreads across the surface, catching at my wrists.

_Oh god…_

And beyond it, new towers. Familiar towers. The same towers rise above the island in the bay, haunting the city.

_And now you have choices to make. Fall forward or hold back, Fool?_

Falling. Falling. Jarring pain tremoring through forehead, head, neck.

“Dema, darling, what is -”

_Next card, turn the next card._

The one right beneath the Tower. The flames are licking at it, blackening the surface. “ _Turn. Turn. Turn. To everything, there is a season.”_ Where’d that phrase come from? “ _A time to be born and…”_

_Death._

Icy air pushes the flames back. I fall. _I. Me_ ? Someone calls a name that is mine. Or was mine. Or should be mine. Everything is dark and cold; I hit something hard. Metal. Vises close around my wrists holding me still. Frozen. Breath on the back of my neck. Sharp teeth click together. A monster playing with its food. _“Here you are. So close to the truth and yet so far away.”_ The monster laughs. _“What I’m going to do to you.”_

“What the hell did you do to her, witch?”

No matter how I jerk my arms and struggle, the vises are still clenched around my wrists. Beyond the monster's continuing chuckles, distant voices argue, fading in and out.

“I didn't, she panicked…”

_“I've never had the pleasure of observing someone die a second time.”_ Scalpel. Pressure. Drawing down the inside of my arm, skin peeling back like paper curling before a flame. Birchbark being pulled away from white wood - white like bone - beneath. Smell of iron. Copper tang on my tongue.

“That's the problem, you ruthless little bastard. You're so caught up in your own bullshit.”

Sharp, burning point, inside of an elbow, pulled slowly to a ray, no other point to be the end of the segment. _“Let's see what's actually in here. You've always been curious.”_

Still struggling. Still bound. Gods that don't exist, they hurt. The bands around my arms hurt! Why are they tighter now?

“She'll hurt herself if I let go.”

“She wouldn't be hurting at all if you had just let her go.”

Long gloved fingers pull skin back slowly. Muscle. Sinews. Bone. Joint. Jab something into the gap where arm bones meet wrist bones and twists. Screaming. Red blood. Black rotted, cancerous marrow.

“So _dead_ would be better?”

_“Look at this Zero-six-nine. How easily the body comes apart.”_

Red haired man hanging from the ceiling. Chains around his arms and feet and dark hollow where his right eye gone. What's his name?

“Sweetheart, please.”

_“I wonder what her heart looks like.”_ Quick slash down sternum, the throat over the breast bone convulsing in a scream. _“Does she have a whole one? Just half of one?”_ Thin saw. Gloved hands. _“That was the bargain, wasn’t it? Half a heart. Your memories. To bring her back, keep her safe. Broken now.”_

“You're scaring her more, witch.”

The hanged man's face twists. Desolation in his one eye. _“It's a nightmare, solnishka. Just a nightmare. Open your eyes.”_

Know his name. _I know his name._ Just open my eyes. 

“Don't touch me!” I jerk my arms away from the restraints around my wrists and kick out wildly. "Don't fucking touch me." Someone in front of me gasps as my foot connects with their chest and my elbow collides with something behind me. I fall forward, but this time, my hands hit the floor and a carpet burns my palms.

“Dema.” 

Hands touch my back, and I scream again before the sound collapses into a sob, and I collapse against the floor with my cheek pressed into the carpet. “No, don't!”

“It's okay, little witch.” The person in front of me speaks. The statement isn’t calm, but it’s measured at least. Controlled. “You're safe. We won't touch you. You're in the palace.”

The other person lays down beside me. His hand is close to mine, but he leaves a gap this time. “Sweetheart, just try to breathe, okay.” 

I turn my head to the side. “Asra?” His nose is bleeding. From my elbow. I think. But he smiles anyway.

“Yeah. It's me.”

“I’m sorry, your -”

“Not even broken.” He touches his hand to his face and a soft light flares around it, stopping the blood. “See. Nothing to worry about.”

I roll onto my side and tuck one arm under my head. No blood. Just smooth skin, only marred by the red marks where Asra has been holding my wrists. I can hear Valerius saying something to someone at the door, then there are overpolished shoes in my field of vision and he sets a glass down next to me.

“Water. When you’re ready.”

Not quite yet.

The carpet feels good beneath my fingers - slightly rough and very real. No shifting horrors, just brightly dyed wool woven in patterns that are blessedly still. There's no cut down the middle of my chest, no pain when I touch it, no blood on my fingers when I pull them away. Asra stays next to me on the floor, one hand extended to me, but waiting, not grabbing, not grasping. Waiting.

Until I've found my way back into myself, I don't - I can’t touch his hand. All fingers, all toes wiggled and accounted for. Hair falling out of my braid and brushing against my face. Air moves through my nose and down to my lungs and back out, and I can slow it down or speed it up as I wish. Heart beating in the left side of my chest. Eyes closing into empty darkness to only see when they open again.

Finally, I cover Asra's hand with my own. Just for a moment, before I push myself out of the floor, sitting and leaning back against the sofa behind me. The table has been flipped over and my cards are scattered across the floor. Disarray and disorder feels appropriate. Too appropriate, and perhaps, if I took a moment to reorder them, I could reorder myself. 

I don’t have the strength for it. Not right now.

I pick up the glass with two hands, making up for how they both shake. The water is welcome, and I sip it slowly, letting it roll over my tongue and down my throat. 

Asra rolls upright - his movements as graceful and fluid as ever - and sits cross-legged in front of me, with his hands in his lap. Valerius had remained standing near the side table, but he sits down now in a chair with a heavy sigh and flips his braid back over his shoulder.

I stare down at the empty glass in my hands. “I'm sorry.”

“Sweetheart.” Asra takes my hand, and I permit him. “You don't need to -” He runs his fingers over the bruises around my wrists, the same cool light as when he healed his own nose, and the red marks disappear. “I’m sorry.”

“I'm pleased you're back with us, little witch.” Val crosses his legs and leans forward in the chair, steepling his fingers. He looks exhausted, but then he hasn’t slept much more than I have. “I sent for some tea and something to eat because I rather doubt you've had anything today.”

“I'm not hungry.” I brace myself against the sofa and start to stand, before collapsing when my legs begin to shake.

“You may not be. Your body is.” Val stands back up and offers me a welcome hand. I let him pull me up as Asra rises up from the floor. I fall back onto the sofa like a rag doll, head rolling onto the back cushions. He’s probably right. What time is it even? I haven’t eaten, haven’t really drunk anything since last night and precious little then, and if the light outside is anything to go by, it’s close to noon. 

Asra sits beside me and wraps his fingers around my hand. He leans his head back beside mine. His eyes are half lidded and swallowed up in dark, exhausted circles. I very much doubt that I look any better. I lean my head against his shoulder and allow him to wrap an arm around me, craving whatever stability he can offer. _Ground me, please, save me. I can’t do it on my own._

The servant who delivers the food is nearly silent. I don’t bother to open my eyes. I can imagine how their own eyes widen at the state of the room. What they must be thinking when they see the overturned table and the scattered cards. There’s a soft scraping as the table is righted. Is Val helping them? Their eyes must be impossibly wide now if that’s the case. My lips curl, I giggle, and that must sound quite mad without a referent.

Ah well, what does it matter if the servants know the truth?

Asra pulls away from me, but his hands are back soon enough, pressing a cup of tea to my lips. I raise my own hands and take the cup from him - careful, it’s probably the finest bone china, not the sturdy stoneware at home - before I drink. Black tea with too much sugar and milk, but I suppose I need both of those. I finish the cup before opening my eyes. Asra and Val are holding cups as well. I pour another cup of tea for myself and take a biscuit from the plate to nibble on, grateful that it’s plain. I don’t think my stomach could manage anything else right now. Val and Asra seem to take that as their own cue to eat something, but thankfully, neither tries to get me to talk.

Heavy footsteps and voices exchanging directions in the hall, the sound of something being carried, then a ratatat tat - like a table at a spiritualist's seance - on the door connecting this room to the next. The hinges creak open, and Nasmira steps in, concern written across her kindly face. “Asra? Dema? We -”

I’m off the sofa and scrambling for the door before she can finish. She steps to the side before I shove past her - no concern for manners because I have none left - and into the next room. Julian's body, wrapped in a canvas shroud, is laid out on the bed. I reach my hands out, trying to find Asra’s but there’s nothing but still air beside me. When I glance back, Asra is frozen in the doorway; his hand raised to his heart. One of my hands reaches out, beckoning him to me. His lips part, ever so slightly, and he shakes his head. The same way that he has shaken at me before on so many moonless nights. But I can’t wait for him to decide not to abandon me again. With one hand extended - a sleepwalker caught in a nightmare, I step forward. 

I climb onto the bed and cradle Julian’s head in my lap, stroking his curly hair. If his _curse_ is going to work it's magic, if it’s somehow going to wake us all from this nightmare, it hasn't done so yet. The canvas shroud scrapes like sand against the pads of my fingertips as I hook them into the fabric and draw it back from his face. A vivid, purple bruise mars his neck, and my own cry of dismay is strangled in my throat as I run my fingers over skin that's not cold yet, just cool. At least, someone had the decency to make sure his eyes were closed. I'm not sure I will be able to unsee this; I'd never be able to unsee his eyes gone lifeless. Why did I invite that image into my imagination? I try to shove it aside, working knots from Julian's hair and rearranging the locks into something more orderly.

And wait. What else is there to do? It took - what? - maybe twenty minutes for him to recover from the vampire eel bite he took from me - seems so long ago: falling into the water, his hands catching at mine, the whispered _“not this time.”_ How long to recover from dying? And how long has it even been? My sense of time warped entirely when… My fingers twitch moving over my face and chest in a rhythmic gesture. I don’t know what it means, but it _feels_ comforting, _feels_ familiar.

The hallway door opens. Nadia ushers Portia into the room, one arm wrapped around her shoulders and another holding her elbow. Her big blue eyes are filled with tears, and she’s clutching a handkerchief. Her chest and shoulders heave with a sob when she sees Julian on the bed, threatening to send her to the floor. Nadia catches and cradles Portia against her, rubbing her shoulders and the red hair that’s falling out of her headband. 

Still Portia pulls free of Nadia, stumbling across the room. Warm arms embrace me for a moment, then she undoes the shroud a bit further and pulls free one of her brother's hands to clutch before collapsing on the floor. Another sleepwalker waiting for the terror to end. Wait and murmur something - repetitive and soothing.

Asra still stands in the doorway, watching us with one hand raised to his chest. Over his shoulder, Nasmira catches her sister’s eye, and they exchange a nod of understanding. Nasmira squeezes Asra’s shoulders before she goes, and Nadia kneels beside Portia for a moment, speaking softly in her ear and running her elegant fingers over Portia’s arms.

Asra’s knuckles have gone white from clutching the door frame. Once both the princesses have left, he’s able to bring himself to enter the room. He stays on the opposite side though, alternately pacing and picking up random objects from the side tables and shelves before replacing them and obsessively nudging them into the same position as before.

Caught in my own version of Asra’s frenetic movements, I begin to smooth the wrinkles from Julian's shirt. I’ve already tidied his hair as much as possible - as if it was ever possible to tidy his hair. I flick a lock loose again - if it’s ever truly tidy, he’ll be truly dead, and so it needs to stay a bit messy. As my fingers return to his chest and smooth over his shirt, they bump against something hard in his shirt pocket. I fish out the small object, the dichroic glass charm - sparkling purple and blue interplaying on the smooth surface - that I had enchanted for him. The magic wore off, and the light faded long ago - or not so long ago, not really. It had only been a day or two - or maybe three, I’ve lost track. But it feels so, so very long ago that I pressed the trinket into his hand, and he told me that he’d see me soon. He had kept it. Choking back a sob, I start to return the charm to his pocket. No. Almost of their own will my fingers lay the bit of glass on the hollow of his throat.

Portia continues to repeat the same few lines of verse, and Asra has settled a little, shuffling and reshuffling his deck on a sidebar. The way that light from the window reflects on Julian’s hair shifts slightly, indicating the passage of time that I don’t feel. An hour, perhaps? A ray of afternoon sun hitting Julian's throat. For a moment, I fear it's only the sunlight catching in the charm, then the sigil on his throat begins to glow.

“Portia! Asra!”

Every muscle in Julian’s body spasms, and I grab his shoulder in an attempt to steady him. He convulses and coughs, before drawing a shaky breath into his lungs. Behind heavy lids, his eyes move rapidly like those of someone caught in a dream, then they snap open. He blinks several times before his eyes finally focus on me, the left corner of his mouth quirking up in a tired grin. “Hey, you.”

“Hey yourself.” I run the back of my hand along Julian's jaw and trace the fading line where the bruise from the rope had marred his skin. “Beloved.”

Portia screams with joy, claps her hands together, and claps her hands together. Asra nigh flies across the room, throwing himself at Julian. I've heard of, but never seen, people laughing and crying at the same time, but Asra is managing to do so, dimples in his cheeks showing and tears in his eyes as he embraces Julian. “You're alive!”

Julian catches the breath that Asra just forced from his lungs, and pats him on the back. “See, I told you it would work, but someone wouldn't trust me.”

His voice is so hoarse, even as the bruises fade from his neck. And Asra has Portia blocked entirely, and it hardly seems fair that there’s not enough of Julian to go around all at once. I grab Asra’s shoulders and pull him back wrapping my arms around his shoulders and whispering in his ear. “Give Portia a moment.” He lets me pull him back, until he’s seated on the edge of the bed with his thigh pressed close to mine and an arm tight around me, and Portia can finally reach her brother. 

Julian pushes himself up on one elbow and wraps his other arm around his sister. He tumbles forward, still half twisted in the shroud, and leans heavily on her. “Hey, Pasha. I lived.”

“You, you -” She buries her face in his neck, and her knuckles go white from clutching his shirt. “I swear if you ever do anything like that again I will kill you myself and, and -”

“Shh . . . It's okay.” Another cough shakes his chest. He lets go of Portia, presses his fist to his sternum, and drops back into my arms. His voice is a rough whisper. “Say is there anything to drink, maybe? Dying will give you a thirst.”

Asra scrambles to grab a bottle and passes it to Julian who pulls out the stopper and downs it without a thought. “Damn!” For the very first time, I see him cough from liquor. “That burns.”

Portia stands up and takes the bottle away. “Perhaps some water instead of whiskey?” She retrieves a carafe from the other side of the room and fills a tumbler.

“Sure, uh.” Julian tries to swing his legs off the bed and gets tangled in the shroud. I grab his arm before he topples into the floor, getting a dopey grin in return. “You know, on ships, they sew the dead up in their hammocks. Just taking a nap.”

“Uhuh.” Portia forces a glass into her brother’s hand. “Then they shove a needle through their nose to make sure they're dead. Drink.” She does the same, just from the bottle that she had taken from Julian, then hands the bottle back to Asra who drinks himself, grimacing as he does.

Julian throws back the water, hands the glass back to Portia, shakes out his hair, and runs his hand through it. “That’s better.” Disentangling his long legs from the shroud, he looks around at the three of us. “Well?”

Portia still doesn’t look impressed. “Well, what?”

“Aren’t you going to ask what I found out?” Julian curls himself forward then arches his back in a stretch, below slouching back onto the overly high pile of pillows with a cocky smile on his face. 

“He didn’t refuse you this time?” I curl closer to him and lean my head against his chest. He drapes an arm around my shoulders and starts toying with my hair.

“Apparently dying has some currency.”

Asra settles himself on the other side of Julian, who nonchalantly weaves the fingers of his other hand into Asra’s hair and pulls him into a kiss that, I suspect, is equal parts calculated drama and whole-hearted sincerity. 

“Ilya -” Asra’s eyes are bright when they break apart. “What did you learn?”

“I _was_ going to kill Lucio. That is, I was going to kill the plague. That was the cure. Lucio is the plague. Or rather the plague, the crimson beetles, the red water -” His voice grows darker as he continues. “They’re all tied to Lucio’s existence.” Julian takes the whiskey bottle back from Asra and drinks again.

Asra looks over at me. “So, since he’s found some way to come back . . .”

“. . . the plague is also coming back.” I snatch the bottle from Julian and drink myself. Just what are we supposed to do with this information? We may need more whiskey.

“Here’s the good news. End Lucio for good and end the plague for good. Or, at least, it should work that way.”

“How are you going to do that? He’s already dead.” Portia looks the three of us over. Her eyes narrow when they reach Asra. “Do you have a trick up your sleeve?” 

“We, Dema and I, think he’s planning to try to complete the ritual started three years ago and fully restore himself during the Masquerade. He didn’t have enough participants last time.”

“The idea is to warn away any potential participants - people who have a particular affinity for one of the major Arcana.” The words sound pathetic as I say them.

Portia’s lower lip pushes out, and she shakes her head - just a little - from side to side. “Will that stop him permanently? Or just for now?”

Asra looks down and turns his hands over, as if the answer is hidden somewhere in the lines on his palms. “I don’t know yet.”

Her hands tighten into fists. “That’s not good enough!”

“I know.” Asra closes his palm without looking up at her. “But it’s the best I can do right now!”

“I’m sorry.” Portia taps her foot and looks off to the side. “It’s just today, and Ilya, and, and . . . Just figure it out before more people have to die, okay?”

“Pasha -”

“I’ll go and tell Milady how things turned out. You, you should drink some more water, Ilyusha.” Scrubbing the back of her hand across her face, she turns on her heel and leaves, letting the door slam shut on her way out.

Julian takes one of Asra’s hands in his, uncurling the fist Asra has made and kissing his knuckles. “Sorry, Asra, she -”

“She’s right,” Asra says softly. “It’s not good enough.”

“Hey, come here.” Julian throws out his arm around Asra and pulls him to his chest. “You’ll figure it out.”

“Maybe.” Asra curls into Julian’s embrace. He doesn’t look confident. 

I stroke Asra’s soft hair and smooth cheek. “It can’t be much harder than coming back from the dead, can it?” 

Asra makes a choked sound that halfway between a laugh and sob and turns his head, burying his face in Julian’s shirt. Maybe he’s finally cracked too? It might be nice to have some company on my travels through madness. Besides, Asra does like to travel. I look at Julian in confusion. He’s biting his lip, not laughing for once, and his brows are pulled together. He knows something. Does he? He untangles himself from Asra's arms and gets up, pulling Asra to his feet and kissing the top of his head. Asra is still shaking with laugh sobs.

"Other room maybe?” Julian suggests. “Bed's a little bigger and there's - there's no shroud."

True enough. The white canvas is crumpled on the floor, but it's there, and still horrible for all that it's now unnecessary. He doesn't let go of Asra's hand, even as he reaches out to pull me with them.


	2. Mouth Connects to the Teeth, and Teeth to the Love and the Curses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from St. Vincent, "Marrow" (The Tower card image is from the Crowley deck.)

* * *

Julian whistles at the sight of the out of place table and the cards still strew over the floor of the other bedroom. Then he shrugs, stretches a little, and sits on the bed to pull off his boots. He smiles ruefully and rubs the back of his neck. "You'd think hanging would straighten out your back a little, but no such luck." I manage a laugh. Asra only crawls in beside him and curls back up beside him, holding tight to his arm, as though Julian might suddenly transform into a giant bird and fly away for good.

I need to do something, anything to make this feel more normal, just for a little while. The tea tray remains on the table. I grab some sort of biscuit from it and press it into Julian’s hand. “You should eat, shouldn’t you? You have to be hungry.” 

Julian’s humoring me more than anything when he takes a bite from it. I kneel down on the floor and begin gathering up my deck, turning all the cards face down without looking at them and stacking them in my hand, chattering as I do. “Tea?” I glance up at him. There’s a line between his eyebrows. “There’s tea. I can heat it back up.”

“Dema, you don’t -” Julian sets the remaining half of the biscuit aside on the table by the bed. Portia may scold him about the crumbles later, but that’s okay. It’ll probably reassure her to do so. Something very normal, after all. Julian’s arm slides out of Asra’s grip as he stands back up.

“There’s no coffee, but I’m sure I could find one of the staff in the hall and have some brought if you want.” I tuck the Chariot into the stack, trying to ignore how it’s reversed in my hand. "It's . . . it wouldn't be a problem, would it? I mean they wouldn't mind, certainly."

Julian steps over to me and closes his hand over my shoulder. “Just . . . darling . . . be still, please.” He wraps his arms around my waist and lifts me off the floor when I can't quite stop my hands from continuing to stack the cards, and all I feel is relief that he's pulled me away. The cards fall from my hand, fluttering across the floor like leaves. His lips press against the crown of my head, and he settles us both onto the bed, rolling over so that his legs are straddling mine and pressing his lips to my forehead, the tip of my nose, my lips, holding me down. "Just for a bit." Lips touch my throat next. "We'll figure out what to do next, but please -" He lays his head down on my chest, ear over my heart. "Just lay here with us awhile."

I curl my fingers into Julian’s hair, curls smooth like the feathers of a bird’s wing. It's safer, so much safer, with him around me and Asra beside me, lightly tracing his fingers over my cheek and lips, humming a song that I should know the words too. Asra turns my face to his and kisses my mouth, softly, once, then a second time. He drops his head down onto my shoulder, kitten soft curls brushing against my lips, and sighs. With his eyes closed, he almost looks peaceful. 

I close my eyes, wondering how long it has been since Asra and I slept - really, slept, not just dozed in and out of nightmares - and how that earlier warp in time, warp in perceptive, warp in reality figures into the calculation. When did Ilya last sleep? Does being dead count as sleep? 

Julian settles closer against me. “I saw you, why did - I didn't want you there. I didn't want you to have that picture burned in your memory.” He rolls his weight to the side and props himself up on his elbow before leaning over and kissing my temple. 

“I couldn’t let you . . . Not alone.”

“Darling.” His lashes have never seemed so dark or lovely as they do when he closes his eyes now - even if he’s mad at me. I don’t care if he’s mad at me. If he’s angry he’s alive. “I wish you’d - that you had listened to me.” He picks up my hand and presses his lips to my palm. 

“I -”

“Let it go,” he says softly and kisses my fingers. “I’ll do the same.” His fingers uncoil from mine and his hand flattens out on my chest, right along my sternum, and slides down slowly to my stomach just resting there. He lays his head back down on the pillow beside mine, close enough that our foreheads touch.

“Was the Hanged Man’s realm the same this time?”

“What? A seething, tropical hell?”

It’s an apt description, and I giggle a little. Asra makes a little annoyed noise on the other side of me as the movement disturbs his catnap. I turn my head and rearrange us a bit, wrapping one arm around Asra’s shoulders and cuddling him close against me. “Well, yes, but -”

“Mmm...” Julian catches my earlobe between his teeth for a moment. “I would have preferred my prior company. But, no hunting, at least not like, like we had to before. He was there - to greet me, I suppose. When I, well, when I fell.” His lips touch my shoulder. “But he only looked at me at first, didn’t respond to my greeting, didn’t answer any questions.”

“And so -?”

“Another walk. Past, no though, strange things. Mists. Memories I think, some were mine, at least. Waves crashing over the bow of a ship. Gathering crystals from the salt pans as a kid.” His mouth finds the edge of my jaw. “I get freckles when I’m out in the sun too long, you know. Well, I burn too, but anyway. There were other things too. Memories that weren’t mine. A boy shivering in a sea cave with his arms wrapped around his knees. Snow. I’ve seen snow, but never so much. Then a city, a bridge over a river covered in ice - what’s wrong?”

A bridge over an icy river? I can almost see it, and I shiver, but I can’t say why. Julian’s hand pauses the circles and spirals he’s been tracing over my chest and stomach. Asra nuzzles closer to me, responding without words, and his fingers brush over my collarbone. “Nothing. It’s nothing.” Was the repetition to reassure him or to convince me? “Go on.”

“Are you sure?” That worry line between his eyebrows is back. 

“Yes.” Pinpricks of cold, like melting snowflakes, scatter across my face. I need another image in my head, something to banish the bridge. 

Julian’s hand resumes caressing my stomach. “Okay, things like that, we - the Hanged Man and I - we kept walking past images like that. Some that made no sense to me. Creatures like beasts, or humans, or something else entirely. Speaking languages like none I’ve ever heard. Words that spun worlds in and out of being, dictating the rules that governed them, changing those as they pleased.

“He asked if I was curious. I don’t know why - surely he knew that I was. Then -” Julian’s hand moves from my stomach to my hip, wrapping possessively around the curve there. “He made an offer. He said that I could stay. Could watch the mists with him, contemplate all that had been and how all things might play out.”

“Stay?” Asra lifted his head from my shoulder and repeated the simple question. “Stay in his realm?”

“Yes.” Julian sat up and reached across me to touch Asra’s shoulder. “Stay. But -” His gaze moved from Asra’s eyes to mine, then back again. “I said no. That I had to come back. That I needed to be with you. That the only thing I needed to know now was how to end the plague." Julian laid back down, folding one arm under his head.

"And then?"

"Then everything was mists and memories and I opened my eyes in your arms. Not so bad I suppose." He grimaces and rubs the back of his neck. "Except, of course, for the getting there part." He hooks one long leg around me and Asra both. “But there is it, uh. That’s the story.”

“I’m glad you told him no, Ilya,” Asra says softly.

Julian drapes his arm over both of us. “I wanted to come back to you. I wanted to remember you. Both of you. All of you.” He nuzzles into my shoulder and drags Asra’s hand over so that their hands are intertwined on my chest. “Now, now, I just want to rest a little. Please.” 

Asra sits up long enough for Julian and me to shift around a bit until he has enough space on the bed to not be threatened with toppling off. Asra pulls a light blanket over all three of us when he lays back down and curls around me, with his head pressed against the back of my neck.

It’s quiet. And still, finally, between the two of them. Everything slows. Breaths, thoughts, I might be drifting toward the sleep that has been eluding me for days. 

“ _Fool . . ._ ”

The voice hisses in my head, sibilant and clawing. I bolt upright, pressing my hands to my temples. This is . . . This is different from the dark thoughts from earlier. Different from the authoritative voice commanding me to turn the cards. Or the other terrible one - talking of skin, and bones, and the things hidden beneath both... 

“What is it, solnishka?”

A cold chill passes over me, and I can’t stop my teeth from chattering. 

“ _He hid you. I didn't recognize you before. You have what should have been mine.”_ There’s a singsong quality to the voice - a speaker past the point of reason.

“A voice.” I drop one hand from my face, eyes still closed, groping blindly for a human touch. A hand finds mine - large, soft skinned from wearing gloves all the time - Julian’s. A second pair of hands, rougher, calloused from carving, from gathering, from shuffling, take my other hand away from my face and gently cradle my jaw. 

“A voice?” Asra’s voice is concerned. His fingertips brush across my cheekbones. I nod, and the movement loosens something in my head that was holding back pressure. Enough pressure that I fear it might push the plates of my skull apart. “Dema, look at me.”

I open my eyes. The sheer curtains draped over the windows mute mid afternoon light, but it's still painful. Asra’s brows are furrowed with worry.

I close my eyes again, still shivering. Julian lets go of my hand, then pulls me against his chest, pulling me away from Asra as he does. The voice returns. _“Soon though . . . I’ll take it back.”_

Julian's hand touches my forehead. “You're burning up.”

“I'm freezing.” Everything around me feels fuzzy and confused. And I reach for something to wrap around me, but I don't have the energy to curl my fingers around the soft fabric they find. At least not enough to lift it.

_“Do you remember this? Witch.”_

“Asra,” Julian's voice is low, quiet with concern. 

_"You poor fool. You don't even know what they did to you. Pretty little idiot!"_

Air scrapes and claws as I try to drag it through my throat. My vision starts going around the edges, evening falling over Asra’s face, then points of light dancing across the field. _Snow again._ I clutch my hands to my chest and gasp - the inhale stretches my lungs, and they ache even more, but holding my breath is more likely to kill me. Right? That’s right? I’m in our world, not one of the strange realms belonging to the arcana. Here I have to breathe if I’m going to survive. A low ringing starts in my ears and then rapidly increases in pitch. Julian is saying something to Asra, but it sounds far away, like words passing through by water.

Julian lets Asra take me from him. The mattress shifts as he climbs off the bed and kneels in front of me. His hand is on the pulse point in my neck, he mutters something and unceremoniously pulls my shirt open, touching his palm flat against my chest. "Breath. Deep as you can.” It’s hard to focus on his voice, but the command is simple enough. Simple. Not easy. “Good, darling. Okay, again. Asra, hold her shoulders for me." He presses his ear to my chest and listens, then checks my pulse again. “Keep breathing for me.” One cool hand curls around the side of my face, and I lean into it, letting him help hold my head up.

The tightness in my chest subsides gradually, and as it gets easier to breathe my vision returns and the ringing in my eyes lowers in pitch, then fades altogether. I lift my head a little from Julian's palm.

"Feeling any better?"

"A little."

"Your pulse was steady, just fast, and it's slowed a little" He starts redoing the buttons on my shirt. "And your lungs sound okay to me..." 

I lean forward, elbows on my knees and head in my hands. "You didn't - you didn't hear the voice?" Maybe breathing slowly won't hurt so much. Maybe my chest will stop hurting all together.

Julian runs his hands over my shoulders. "I didn't hear anything, darling."

"It said witch, thief, fool. Like a -" Get the words out between labored breaths was difficult. "Like a hiss, or maybe a growl." I couldn't have described what direction it came from, but I heard it. "Asra, did you -"

_"Thief."_

Asra flinches. "This time I did."

The tension coalesces into my sternum, then _jerks_ like there's a hook of ice pulling me forward, drawn by a hand that doesn't particularly care whether I come to it or my ribcage is drawn from my body. _"Come, foolish child!"_ It’s somehow softer and harsher than the mad voice speaking a moment before. Much older, much sager. One of the voices from the cards.

The hook wrenches me to my feet, and I stumble across the room. My cards are still strewn over the floor and the low table. The pain in my chest lessens as I get closer to them, to where the voice wants me to be. I drop to my knees beside the table, hands moving like they’re possessed. _No, no, no. Not this again._ But, at least, I don’t feel like I’m falling into some place other than this world. The elsewhere I’m being pulled too is still here.

My fingers stop over a single card. It’s already face up - the Tower. Heat jolts through me like the lightning strikes the top of the tower, catching it aflame. And there’s nothing metaphorical about it. No, this is the tower I see every time I look out to the sea. But I’ve never seen it aflame before. I’ve never seen smoke rising from the island in the harbor. I’ve only heard stories about how the island glowed in the night like a mockery of sunrise and the smoke in the day darkened the sky and choked the air when the wind blew in from the sea. Right? Just stories. Just other people’s memories. 

When I look up, Asra is holding Julian’s arm, keeping him from rushing forward.

“The Lazaret.” I only manage a gasp. The hook may be looser in my chest now, but the lightning crackles in my veins.

“What about it?” Julian kneels down beside me as Asra lets go of his arm.

“There’s something there.” The card drops from my shaking hands. “For me.”

His hands cup my cheeks, cool and as not as comforting as his touch usually is. “Darling, there’s nothing there for anyone. Just ghosts.”

"No. There _is_ something -" The pulling at the center of my chest begins again, and with a little cry, I fall against him. 

_"Fish on a hook, puppet on a string. No matter where you look, you still don't know a thing."_ It’s the first voice again, taunting with rhymes like a childish bully.

"Sweetheart, please, just lay down a bit." Asra. Pretending to be reasonable now. Pretending. Pretending. Is he ever not pretending? "We're all exhausted."

_“There are answers.”_

It’s a needle now more than a hook, stitching through my ribcage with some horrible rough cord, adding points from which I can be manipulated. I brace myself on Julian's shoulder and get to my feet. "I'll go on my own if I have to, but I'm going."

I make it about five steps toward the door before collapsing. Asra catches me before my knees can hit the floor again and be bruised any worse than they already have been.

 _“Answers he won’t tell you.”_ That voice still taunts in a sing-song cadence, and I wonder if Asra can hear it. _“The things - oh, so many things - that he’s ashamed of. Thief.”_

Still, I curl against him and let him take my weight. My blood still feels like it’s on fire, rushing flames through my veins and arteries, but my skin is frozen, and I can’t stop my teeth from chattering, and the cord now pulls at my back, twisted around my spine. Asra whispers some words, working some sort of spell washes over me. The fever and chills recede if only by a bit, and the taunting voice reduces to a whisper. But the cords pulling at me are still there, winding around my humerus now, fighting with Asra for control of my arms.

"I _have_ to go, Asra." This might pull me apart if I don't, leave some half alive person shivering in Asra's arms while the rest of me is tied to the island like a bloody sacrifice on an altar.

"You can't even stand right now. There's nothing but death.” His heart beats in the same arrhythmic pattern as it did in his gate, right after we had spoken with the Magician and played his enigmatic game. Wrong. All wrong. Everything is wrong. “How can I let you -” 

“No, we'll go with you." Julian cuts him off. "Right Asra?”

Asra's chest rises slowly, then falls all at once. “Yes.” His voice wavers. “There’s a portal to the docks in the library. One of mine. We can use that.”

Julian makes me drink a glass of water while he pulls his boots back on, cursing a bit at how long it takes to fasten them all the way up. Asra finds a cloak in the wardrobe and wraps me tightly in it. He casts the same spell over me as before, masking the worst of the snags and the pulls and the cold and the hot, and I wish that Faust was here and not off with Muriel, so that she could wrap around my shoulders and whisper reassurances in my ear.

I’m able to walk, mostly, if Asra keeps hold of my hand, but I can feel his power fading fast as he tries to block Lucio from both of us at once. Julian eventually scoops me up before a flight of stairs and doesn’t put me back down. I can hear the voice, sibilant in the back of my skull. _Do you remember what I used to do to thieves in Vesuvia?_ I don’t remember - of course, I don’t remember - but I’ve seen the beggars with no hands crowding the edges of the markets. The baker always gives them bread, he says they’ve paid for it several times over. Shivering as much from the continued whispers as the cold I feel, I curl closer around Julian and close my eyes. 

The twisting, tumbling sensation of stepping through the portal is worse than I remember. We emerge under one of the docks, in a shallow cave that’s suffused with the feeling of Asra. Bits of fabric - rotting now, but once brilliantly colored - cling to stone, along with a battered lantern. A sense of safety wraps around me - worn and warm like a well-loved old blanket. But Asra leaps along a narrow path leading up to the boardwalk. Julian follows him, stepping more carefully over the slick surfaces. Nausea hits me again when we step out of the cave’s spell, and I tuck my face tight against Julian’s chest.

I lift my head when we’re back on a flat surface. “Let me try to stand, okay, please?” Further down the pier, Asra is talking to one of the gondoliers.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Julian sets me down gently, keeping one hand under my arm. The rough boards beneath my feet are a shock, the strange comfort, something very tangible. The hook in my chest tugs still, but not so insistently now, like it knows that I’m on the path it wants for me. But I let Julian take part of my weight as we walk down the dock to join Asra. He’s passing over a handful of trinkets - some valuable, some not so much - to the gondolier, then hops into the boat and holds out his hand. I step in carefully, letting him steady me against the rolling motions and settle me into the cushions - ah, yes, tonight all these boats would be taken out by lovers and friends to watch the fireworks exploding in the dark sky. It would be a sight to see. Julian follows and sits beside me, picking up the oar. 

“No need.” Asra drops his hand over the stern of the boat and does something that propels it forward.

I lean against Julian. Even if my chest doesn’t hurt so much now, and I don’t feel so cold, I still feel like my veins are smoldering in me. “What does it feel like, waiting to die?” Even as I ask the question, the more rational part of my mind tries to stop me, to tell me that it’s a cruel question, but she’s weakened, and I want to know. No, not _know_ . I think that part of me, one of the parts I don’t have access to, already _knows_ , but . . .

Julian’s breath catches. He’s painfully, eerily quiet for the space of three breaths, then he speaks slowly.

“Division. It’s like division. Each moment divided in half, and then half again, and again, and again. And surely they’ll divide infinitely, each one smaller than the last. But they won’t end. Until they do.” He strokes my cheek slowly, gently, and somehow I can feel his wry smile through them. “Then next thing you’re talking to a birdman in a swamp.”

I try to smile back at him; I’m not entirely sure that I manage it. The coals in my veins work into my bones, and they start to crackle from heat that turns to lightning once again. A moan escapes my burning lips, and my head sits down into Julian’s lap. His fingers rest on my neck again, checking my pulse. _Not much point to that now_.

Behind my eyelids, shadows move. Shuffling people, coughing, leaning on each other. Some are being carried by figures wrapped in night with the beaks of birds. Other birds poke and prod the walkers along, nudging, stabbing with ebony beaks. Fingers wrapped around my arms keep me fleeing. But it doesn’t matter now. What little is left has no energy to run. 

“Asra, we should tell her.” Julian's large hand begins stroking my hair and face again. They must think I've fallen asleep.

The restraining fingers are gone from my arm. But I shuffle along with the rest of the shadows. One step, two steps. A half step now, because my leg is too weak to lift my foot. But even if the steps are smaller, each one half of the last, surely the motion forward won’t really stop.

“I . . . In the past, I've tried, Ilya, _I swear I’ve tried_ , and each time I nearly lost her again. Maybe if her intuition is leading her to the island that's how she needs to find out.”

What should or shouldn't they tell me? They’re impossible, but I’m too tired, and Julian is too miraculously warm for me to bother rousing myself to argue. In my own mind, I creep with the shadows.

“It's not just . . . The Lazaret -” The boat shifts as Asra moves, he picks up my tired, aching feet and sets them in his lap. “- the worst memories of my life are there. I'd rather go anywhere else.”

Julian curls his hand around mine. The shadows do that too. Holding hands. Trying to comfort each other. Poor Ilya; back from the dead for barely an hour, and he's babysitting one broken magician and one magician who’s rapidly approaching a breaking point. “It doesn't hold good memories for anyone.” 

“You at least tried to save people from the start. I just left. I left everyone.”

“Given what was happening, that wasn’t unreasonable, besides you did come back.”

“Too late.” Asra's voice chokes with a sob. “Too damn late.”

“And I didn't even notice until it was too late.” Julian's arm tightens around me. Too late for what? “But, what you did - I still don’t understand how. Or why you took that book from - there had to be another way.”

“There wasn’t, Ilya.”

Julian begins to reply, but the words cut off and he goes silent. They both do.

And around us, the shades continue their own journey.


	3. Shaking Through My Skull, Through My Spine and Down Through My Ribs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Florence and the Machine, "Blinding"

* * *

“Solnishka.” Julian lifts my shoulders, rousing me partly from the half sleep I had drifted into it. He props me against his chest and rubs my arm. “We’re there.”

I raise my head, open my eyes, and wince as the bright sun travels through my eyes and digs into my skull. Blinking rapidly helps a little, but only just. There are no other boats near the low lying island. Past a narrow beach, massive cypress trees sway gently and birds call to each other. In another time, with another history, this might have been the kind of place lovers came to be alone. But I've only ever heard people speak of going to the Lazaret as a dare between drunks. As far as I know, no one ever took it.

A decaying pier juts out from the shore and into the bay. Waves push against it, trying to tear away another board. More shades crawl from the waves onto it. Some helping those behind them, others simply shuffling forward, lost in their own path. One grey shadow - another relic from the past demanding attention - sits across from me. Asra doesn’t notice the thigh pressed against him. He smiles, reaches out, and squeezes my knee. 

Julian starts to say something, then stops himself, and all three of us are silent as Asra steers us to the side of the pier. Salty droplets of water splatter across my face as the boat pushes against the sand still grey with ash, three years after the plague ended. Julian hops out of the boat and drags it to shore, winking at me as he does. “Ridiculous boots, right?” I smile at him, conceding that there just might be some practical applications for his entirely impractical choices in footwear. Finally feeling strong enough to manage my own weight, I step out of the boat, curling my toes into the damp sand. Asra steps out behind me. When he takes my hand in his, he's trembling and darting his eyes nervously about the clearing. 

_Maybe he's expecting a ghost?_ I almost giggle despite the desperately inappropriate circumstances.

I don't understand why Asra can't see the shades, can't feel them around us. This is more his area of expertise than it is mine. Or maybe he does feel them, vague shapes and gestures sounds that are gone when he turns his head, and they're all the more discomfiting for that.

I want to tell him that everything is going to be alright. But I also don't want to lie. So I settle for tugging on his hand, pulling him closer to me, and holding out my other hand to Julian.

"You don't - I mean - I understand if you don't want to come with me."

Julian pulls me to him and wraps one arm around my shoulders pressing me tight against his chest. His other arm is for Asra, drawing the three of us close together. “No. No, you’re not doing this alone.”

Asra’s forehead touches mine. “I’m with you, dear heart.”

“Thank you, both of you.” I’d do it on my own if I had to. At least, I think I would. I think I could. But I don’t want to. 

I step back and out of Julian’s embrace, looking around the beach while Asra lingers just a moment longer in his arms. Now that I’m here, whatever power tore at my chest to get me here has relented. I hardly want it to return, but in its absence, I’m not sure which way to go next. Certainly not along the sandy beach, listening to the soft, soothing sounds of the surf. That would be far too easy. Far too obvious.

Beyond the beach, the forest is a lush and verdant and very alive wall of greenery. From the city, the silhouette of the towers dominates the island, but from our vantage point, they can only just be seen beyond the summer profusion of leaves. A path, or what remains of a path, leads from the pier and back into the trees. The shades transverse it - in pairs, groups of three, or desperately single. Beaked men push along any stragglers. One turns a masked face to me and holds out a hand, gesturing for me to come along.

“This way.” I take Asra’s hand again, firmly. Perhaps part of me is afraid he’ll bolt and after all, why shouldn’t some part of me worry about that? He’s left me so many times before. Julian freezes when he recognizes the path I’m leading us toward. When I nod, he takes a deep breath and steps ahead of Asra and me, pushing aside the twisted vines and curling Spanish moss that hang from the trees, unaware of the ghosts moving around him - through him. 

Asra shivers as we fall into the ranks of the dead. Yes. He is somewhat aware of the presence. One of the shades takes my other hand, leaning close. _“You’re the healer.”_ Its mouth doesn’t move, but I hear the whisper in my head. 

“I haven’t healed anyone.” The shade squeezes my fingers. I think it’s meant to be reassuring.

“Dema?” Asra’s voice sounds farther away than it should when I can feel his warm breath on my cheek. “What are you seeing?”

“The dead.” A bit of briar scrapes against my ankle, drawing blood, and the shade holding my hand lets go. It leans over and drags its finger over the scrape, tremoring as whatever it gains from blood runs through it. My stomach twists on itself as the shade straightens and smiles. I think. It’s hard to read an expression in the grey, translucent face.

At least, they don’t seem to be actively seeking blood.

Mist surrounds us, even though it’s far too late in the day for the sea layer to linger. I’m grateful for it, for how it melts away the edges of the spectral figures, for how it lets me pretend that they aren’t really there.

Julian pauses at the edge of what had been clearing. All the older, stronger, larger trees had been cut down. The stumps left behind rise from the damp ground beneath my feet, twisting like stalagmites growing in a cave. Young cypress, small and skinny fight to take their place, but remain too weak to claim dominion over the open wound in the forest. The shades dance slowly between them, crossing to a brick building being slowly pulled apart by woodbine working its tendrils into the mortar. 

The cords tighten around my ribs again, jerking me forward with the other shades. I gasp as my hand is wrenched from Asra’s, and Julian catches from the stumble that my step becomes.

I brace myself against him, trying to ignore the tearing cords in my chest. “This, this is it, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” He doesn’t move, doesn’t release me. The cords hitch around my spine now, yanking me toward the crumbling structure.

A wave of heat rushes through the clearing and burns away the mist, burns away the shades. I close my eyes tight but that can’t shut out the roar of flame beyond me, and I feel more trapped in a dream than before, the one where someone held me back from a fire, until I disintegrated anyway, rotting from within until there was nothing left without. “You have to let me go, Julian.” I flatten my hands on his chest and shove myself from his arms. Asra grabs my hand again, and I wrench it away from him. “I have to do this.”

Rubble litters the ground from where the walls have begun to fall in and shards of glass from broken windows. I try to pick my way carefully around the second, stepping lightly to avoid driving the pieces that I’ll inevitably miss through the soles of my feet. Through my soul. A pointless effort, and I wince as one jabs through and leaves behind another small offering of blood. Another small offering of me. There are no vines or moss hanging here to catch at my arms or brush across my face. The youthful trees aren’t yet strong enough to support them. Nonetheless, I can feel them around my arms, pulling, caressing, tugging me into the remnants of the building.

_Come sister...._

_Come child...._

_Come fool..._

Inside the decaying building, there’s no mist - just the shades. They stretch out their arms, embracing me like some long lost friend. Cool, ghostly fingers stroke my back, run through my hair, close around my shoulders and pull me down until the cold of the packed earth floor is seeping into my knees. The shades circle around me, still caressing, clinging, obfuscating the difference between light and dark - between past and present and future - like smoke. 

_I’m in a long hall, lined with metal cots, but there are too many bodies of the dead and dying for the cots to hold them all. Two or three per bed, more sprawled haphazardly on the floor. Beaked figures move among us in pairs, prodding at our prone figures, grabbing those that don’t respond by arms and legs, hauling them like sacks through the narrow spaces, heaving them into the furnaces that roar at the end of the corridor._

_The furnace, the fate of everyone in this hellhole. There’s no cure, and no hope for anyone sick enough to have been brought here. Just the fires for us._

_Behind the beaked men, the dead with enough strength to move shuffle amongst the bodies, offering water, a hand, what little comfort they can. After all, that is what they want someone to do for them when the time comes. I did, until a day ago, when my knees gave out, and I curled up where I fell. Waiting. It’s just waiting now, each moment stretching out into an eternity. One moment the warmth of the fire beyond is welcome, easing the chill in my flesh and the ache in my bones._

_Something sharp digs into my side. I try to move - an arm, a leg - or make some sort of sound, but my body won’t cooperate anymore. Hands grab my wrists and ankles. I can’t even get my eyes to open. No. Don’t. I’m still . . ._

Air rushes in my lungs and a scream erupts from my body. I _can_ scream and _can_ flail about and there’s sun on my face and no fire, and the hands around my wrists aren’t trying to drag me anywhere, and, and...

_I’m alive._

But I died. I died three years ago. The plague, the fire, a combination. I died. I’m alive. The paradox churns in my head, tearing at me, like roots digging through the bodies in a graveyard, like the vines burrowing into the spaces between the stones in the wall and pulling them away until this horrible place is falling, tumbling, down, crumbling . . . Except it isn’t. It isn’t at the same time as it is, because there’s no time here and moments, years, tenses whirl together around me

I yank my wrist away from the hand holding it and clasp it to my mouth biting at the fleshy part of one of my fingers, the sharp pain giving me something, anything to focus on. Someone pulls my hand away from my mouth just as I taste my own blood. And there are arms around me picking me up. Taking me somewhere, no, not this time, no. I kick out and cry, no, no . . . I’m alive, dammit.

_Alive? Past? Present? Future?_

“Darling.” The voice in my ear is soft, warm. “You’re okay, it’s done. It’s past.” 

Julian.

Another hand takes my hand, a cool touch spreading over where I bit myself, healing it.

Asra.

I breathe, ragged and halting. Air. Cool air fills my lungs, diaphragm expanding and contracting. I open my eyes slowly. I’m outside, surrounded by the verdant, exuberant forest reclaiming the horrors of the island. Past tense. The fire. The birdmen. Past tense. Julian cradles in his lap. Asra crouches across from us, tears streaming down his face. 

“I died.” My voice is calm - far calmer than I expected. “But, I’m alive.” I extend a trembling hand in front of me, studying the faint lines etched across my palms, the break in the lifeline. The two statements compete in my heads like orchestras tuning up into different keys. “How? I burned. This, this isn't my body.”

“It is.” Asra's voice is so soft that I almost don't hear it.

“Can't be.” I jerk my arms back, left hand over my mouth. Julian's hand close around my wrists, like he's worried - oh yes, I bit my hand that isn't my hand but is somehow, hard, hard enough to break the skin and - I give up trying to parse it and slump back against him. “I don't understand.”

“Your scars were gone and the tattoos you had, but all your birthmarks are the same - your gestures, your muscle memory, your expressions all the same. You this is you. Even the same accent when you spoke.” Asra's gaze is downcast, focused on his own hands.

What is it like to die? To be dead? Questions you can only answer in paradoxes, because you shouldn't be able to answer at all. Division carrying on and on and then multiplying into infinity because dividing and multiplying are the same thing at the end of the day when the books are closed out and the accounts settled and final payments are made and you can close up shop.

I'm shaking. Julian pulls me closer. His grip on my wrists loosens, and he runs his hands up and down my arms, chafing his fingers across mine, which both are and aren't mine, but his touch brings my consciousness back to them. Not mine, but mine.

I twist myself cautiously out of Julian’s embrace, hoping that the world doesn’t crumble and warp around me as his fingers leave mine. We’re just off the overgrown pathway that led back to the . . . the building. Stubborn grasses poke through the gravel in scrubby masses. A climbing plant, lush and heavy with tri-lobed leaves is working its way up and over the bushes and understory trees beside us. A muscadine vine drapes down from the treetops, rough stringy bark biting into the palm of my hand as I close my fingers around it. I close my eyes and run my finger over the surface, concentrating on the texture. Around me, the frogs begin their evening chorus, early here in the shade and cool of the trees, crickets droning behind them. All alive. All taking back the island, the past. I curl my toes in my sandals and shift my weight from my heels to the balls of my feet, then back again, noting the feeling of strength and balance in my legs. Mine. Just keep repeating it. 

I open my eyes and look back at Asra. “What did you do? Don’t lie to me. Don’t tell me to forget - what did you do?”

Asra reaches out and almost touches my face, before pulling his hand back. He pulls a battered compass from his pocket. “What I did . . . no, I won’t tell you to forget. Not again.” He holds it and glumly watches the needle swing slowly. It pauses on me, on Julian, and somewhere else. “I need to show you.” 

He follows the compass needle with halting steps like he's caught in a nightmare of his own. Out of the new forest growth and down to the beach, the one on the opposite side of the island, looking out at the open sea beyond the bay. Past the point where birdsong can be heard and into the area where the only sound is the crashing waves.

Shallow, irregular mounds dot the blackened sand above the tideline. Mass graves. Pits for confused ashes and bones that no one had the time to treat as the last pieces of people. Someone tried, I think. There are wooden posts, carved with dates and sunk deep in the sand next to the mounds. A rough time of passing. Something at least. Someone's beloved died around the time of the new moon. Their ashes may be here. _I'm sorry. I'm sorry._ _I couldn't do enough._

Asra sways on his feet; Julian catches him under his elbow. He smiles weakly and sits down on a piece of driftwood. “We argued. Do you remember?” 

I shake my head. My death was the only secret kept for me here. The island isn’t going to give me back the life I lost. Or explain how I came to have my current one.

His gaze drops to his hands and the compass still cupped in them. “I wanted to leave Vesuvia during the plague. You wanted to stay, to help the people of the city. I left anyway, because, because that’s what I do - I never intend to stay gone, I just, oh, _I don’t know why_ that's the only way I know to manage being overwhelmed. When I came back. You were gone . . . I went looking, and this is I found you, what was left.” His voice catches, and he looks up at the darkening sky, hands outstretched helplessly in front of him. “I dug and dug and all I found was ash and bone, and that’s all there was . . . ash.”

“Asra.” I kneel in front of him, taking his hands in mine. He’s gasping, struggling to talk through the tears, that he keeps hidden behind his coy answers and wry smiles. Nearby, Julian hovers, writing at the hem of his shirt, clearly as unsure as I am about how to comfort Asra. Whether to comfort Asra.

He leans forward, head resting on my shoulder, and that decides it for me. I bring my hands up, one on the back of his neck, the other in his hair. “That first night of the masquerade - three years ago - I cut a deal. With the Devil. A part of my heart, to the Devil, in exchange for your body.” 

I lower one hand to his chest, just above his heart. The mark, the odd, irregular rhythm. “Oh, Asra.” 

“And it wasn't enough, so Ilya...”

“I traded my memories of you.” Ilya’s words nearly blend together. “For you. Your soul. And, um, for the plague to end so that you wouldn't be hurt again by it.”

“ _With the Devil!_ Both of you?” I turn my head to Julian. He looks away, then back and nods to me, slowly.

“Yes. I remember now. After this morning, I mean. All of it. Everything.”

Asra continues before I can say anything else. “I know I should have told you so many things, but every time... and I didn’t want you to relieve this, dying alone here. But I was also afraid, not just for you, but for me, to face what I’d done.”

“That book in the library. Those spells. The ones that you had marked. You were trying to... _Raise me from the dead_ .” The words sound awful as they leave my mouth. Awful in the way the roots of the word intended. The kind of awe that slams you to your knees and leaves your head ringing and empty of any coherent thoughts. _An act of love?_ Ah, but a brutal one! “But there wasn't a spell for that! Not in that book.” Summoning a spirit, yes; possession of a body, yes; but Asra would have had to get a body from somewhere, and one that looked like mine. At least, I would guess that's the case, if Julian, if Artemis recognized me. 

Or maybe I had brown hair, brown eyes, and was taller than Asra in another life? Who knows?

“No.” Asra sounds even more miserable. “A different book. Valdemar gave it to me. A way to summon the power of all the Major Arcana, and then focus it through the Devil. To have wishes granted, desires made real.”

“They didn't do that out of the goodness of their heart.”

“No. I don't know what they wanted.”

“And you took it anyway, Asra? How?”

He clutches at my hands. “I _needed_ you. Every night, every day. Without you, I wasn't whole. I didn't believe that I could be.”

“And you thought I would be whole?”

He laughs bitterly. “The Devil can't lie, none of the Arcana can, but that doesn't mean they say everything. My heart for your body. Ilya's memories for your soul. But we didn't specify your memories. They're all there, I think, but somehow locked away.”

“So, what am I then? A doll for you to play with? A puppet?”

Asra shakes his head so emphatically that his hair lifts around his face. “No. No, you're not. I swear.”

His eyes are wide and pleading. He means it. Or at least, he believes that he means it.

I rock back onto my heels, away from Asra’s arms. “I need to be alone.” Pulling Julian's coat closer around me, I stand and pace down to the edge of the waves, letting the surf wash around my feet. Bare feet. It's a wonder that they aren't filled with thorns or cut to pieces from glass. Would I even feel it if they were? I'm dead after all. 

Everyone - everything - dies. And the dead don't return. Not like this anyway. Perhaps they return in the form of a tree planted over a grave. Or the wind blows their ashes over a field, and they enrich the soil, and return as the grain to feed their children. Or a child is given their name to carry their memory. But not like this. The dead stay dead. It is a simple fact - only proper, only right.

The dead get to rest. Whether in some afterlife or as part of the earth. Rest.

But I'm not dead. My mind repeats the facts trying to order them to make sense of them in some way. Asra - and Julian - worked some kind of obscene, blasphemous magic to bring me back. Or at least, some of me back. Not all of me, not when my memories of who I was before, when I was alive, when I was real, are still lost. Whirling and twirling and spiraling again through thoughts because my mind can never rest.

The coarse sand beneath my toes and the chill of the waves helps a little. A corpse wouldn't feel such things? Or a mannikin? Right? 

They both paid. Dearly enough. But _I've paid too_ \- the year in which I was barely a person, all the confusion when I just couldn't quite find what I needed to know, the crumbling periods of losing myself when I got too close to knowing something - and _I had no choice_ in the matter. Perhaps the Devil couldn't have brought me back whole if he wanted to. Maybe the reality of death is what makes a person, separates human from animal, and with that reality violated, I'm not a person? I can't be more than a revenant conjured from Asra's love and Julian's memory.

Waves crash, times passes, and I'm not sure how much, because if death isn't real, then why should time be real either. What is time without death to limit it? No moment matters in particular, not if they multiply and divide without end. A line can’t be measured in geometry. Only a segment, something with a beginning and an end.

Julian sits down next to me in the sand, marking some small segment of time. He looks morosely out over the harbor, jaw clenched tight. He says nothing. Maybe that's where the meaning comes. Points where people meet and touch.

I take his hand and lift it to my mouth, pressing my lips to his knuckles. Some of the tension leaves his jaw, and his eyebrows have relaxed a touch when he turns his face to me. He presses his forehead to mine and just inhales and exhales for a few moments before speaking. “It would have been easy to stay, I think. That is, I mean, stay with Hanged Man, in his realm, forever considering all those things in the mist. What they might mean. But never having to decide on a meaning.”

“But you would be dead!” I only register the irony of my dismay after I've spoken the words.

“Yes,” Julian's voice is soft. “I would be dead.”

A wave crashes against the beach, followed by another larger one, that pushes closely to where my toes dig into the sand.

“It’s different. You _chose_ to come back.”

“I’m not claiming that it isn’t, just . . . It’s similar. In some ways. What was I before? What am I now? Like getting on and off a ship. I was somewhere else before, and now here I am.”

“But you remember. You’re whole. You know that you’re the same person!”

His hand closes around mine. “Asra offered his heart. All of it, to get you back, in a new body. He was willing to die. But the Devil only took half. Not even the whole was enough to pay for your soul, it seems, but -” Julian curls his hand around my jaw and runs his thumb over my cheek. “I traded my memories of you for that. For your soul. And so, you are you. You have the same soul - the same spirit, my darling. And -” He lets go of my hand. “Now that I remember - everything - I promise, you are the same person I fell in love with.” His forehead touches mine as he leans into me, and the hand that was on my face runs down my back. “Asra brought you back, but I’m the one who let you die.”

“There was no cure.” That, the hopelessness, the powerless of the entire nasty scenario, that was clearer in my memory than the flames. “You couldn’t have . . . you can’t save everyone. Julian, please -” I touch my hand to his face, and he leans into it. “Forgive yourself.” 

His hand leaves my back, and he strokes my hair. “How can you forgive me?”

“Julian, I don’t want to - I _can’t_ live in the past. Besides -” I lift his head enough to look into his eyes. “You just died this morning. Call it even.”

He snorts. “I suppose that’s one way to figure it.”

“Then do the math that way.”

“Yes, I . . . I don’t know if I’ll hurt you in the future. I’ll probably find some way to do so. It’s what I do, whether I want to or not.” He goes quiet again. A wave crashes. Then a second and a third. “During the plague, after Asra left, I suppose, you were an apprentice in a clinic I ran, that’s how we met. It was bleak. The plague itself, and then . . . Valdemar . . . Even now it’s a haze, work, sleep, drink, drink some more. But even though you were the only light, I didn’t notice . . . maybe you hid it, and the plague moved fast, and -”

I bring a finger up to his lips. I still can't quite make the phrase 'I died’ be still in my mind, all I can do is push it to the side where it's vibrating drone can be somewhat more easily ignored, but he finishes anyway. “I couldn’t do anything. You were already dead. I let you die. And then, I wanted to find a cure so badly I agreed to forget you. I didn’t deserve to remember you. I still don’t. I can just go away -”

“Julian -” I turn his face to me so that I can still both his eyes. My hands are still shaking and I don’t know how to stop them. It’s so much easier to focus on him. _Try to soothe him._ Not me. I can’t manage that. “Here are some things I like about you: your wit, a strong nose, and when you actually smile - not smirk, or leer - I feel like the world lights up. I feel safe with you.” He starts to turn away and clasp my fingers forcefully on his jaw to stop him. “Listen. Here’s what I love: you are the one of us willing to die to do the right thing. Not the right thing for yourself, or for someone dear to you - the right thing.” 

“You’re sure?”

“Very.”

He collapses around me, head on my shoulder and arms tight around me, like he’s drowning, and I’m the only thing that might keep him afloat.

The waves have reached Julian’s boots and are threatening my toes when we get up and return to where Asra still holds his head in his hands. Julian plops down next to him and runs a hand over his shoulders.

Asra lifts his face and stretches out a hand to me. “Please don’t hate me. I know that - I’ve felt it, dear heart. Every time that a memory has crashed over you like a wave, nearly drowned you, and then receded. Every time I’ve brought you back and it hurt you so. Maybe it has to do with sharing a heart. I don’t know. And sometimes that’s why I left because I wasn’t strong enough and I thought I’d go mad with it.”

If we share a heart it’s breaking for both of us. The tug in my chest is a different one now - soft, gentle pulling me down beside Asra on the sandy ground. I lift a hand and stroke his hair, and he pulls me into his lap with a sob. Tucked close against his chest, I feel safe. I’ve never felt anything other than safe like this, nestled close against Asra, and that feeling pushes through the rest of the confusion. I fold my hands around him, returning the embrace.

"I'm sorry,” he mumbles into my hair, then lifts his head a bit, speaking more clearly. “I'm sorry for how much you've suffered. I'm sorry I didn't, I couldn't find a way to return your memory. But don't ask me to be sorry that I brought you back. You can walk away right now and never speak to me again, and I won't regret it."

I move my hand from the back of Asra’s neck to his chest. I can feel his heart beating beneath my hand. It’s not ragged now; instead, the beat is in time with my own. Relief, unexpected but welcome, floods through me. I don't _want_ to be angry with him. I want him safe. I want him well. I want him happy. All these things are true. 

He loves me. But what kind of love is it? And what does his love make me?

“You can’t take anything else from me, Asra. Ever. Even if -” I start to say even if it kills me, but no, that’s not my greatest fear. “Even if I go mad from it.”

“I won’t. I swear. Not again.”

“And, later - not now, we have to keep the plague from returning now - you’ve got to tell me things. About myself. Who I am. Both of you.” Maybe I’ll never recover all my memories. Maybe they’ll be hidden away forever behind that wall of flame. But I have to know more, even if it’s just second hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, well, now that we're all on the same page...


	4. I’d Swallow the Moon and Stars to Follow the Beat of Your Heart - NSFW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from LP, "When We're High." Cover image: Young Naiad, Paul Emile Chabas
> 
> Basically PWP for a chapter. Maybe a little character development.

* * *

Even with the portal minimizing travel, we’re exhausted when we land back in the palace library. Or at least, I’m exhausted, and Julian looks like he’s about to fall on the floor and sleep. Asra, however, seems to have found some source of energy. If he isn’t quite bouncing on his toes, he’s certainly close to it. Or levitating. Maybe levitating.

More objectively, we’re all three covered in layers of ash and sand. Based on the rather distressed look that we received from the first servant we met in the hallway, perhaps we even looked worse than I initially thought. Without blinking twice at Julian’s miraculous presence - Portia must have passed the word around - they detoured us to the full baths in the guest wing. Clearly the simple tub within my suite wouldn’t do for whatever new mess we had gotten ourselves into. The mess that the servant tactfully didn’t ask about. We’re left alone with a friendly enough scolding that there were only a few hours left before masquerade guests began to arrive, and we best get ready because the Countess would be expecting us to look our best. 

This bath might not be as large as Nadia’s, but there’s a shower to rinse off the worst of the filth, and a deep sunken tub with water circulating in and out. And a stack of oversized towels and blessedly opaque robes. Julian gets his boots off in record time and then leans both hands against the wall of the shower to stay on his feet. Asra can’t stop touching both of us, like he needs to reassure himself that Julian and I are both really here, intact and whole, at least in body. 

Julian sinks into the water, lays his head back on the edge of the tub, and groans aloud. “Don’t let me pass out. I think I could sleep for days.”

My own bones and muscles are grateful for the warm water. How it draws out the remaining memory of the burning and chills and spasms. Asra holds me in his lap, back pulled tight against his chest, hands folded over my stomach. I lean my head back against his shoulder, letting the water and his arms take my weight.

It’s quiet. _Finally quiet._ Both inside and outside my head. Asra’s fingers run lightly over my stomach and hips, and Julian’s toes brush occasionally against my knees. I keep my eyes close, wanting to drown in the sensations, if not in the water. 

Asra gently pushes me out of his lap and into Julian’s arms. He pulls me to him, straddling his lap, chests close together and kisses my collarbone. “ _Solnishka._ ”

I lean into him as he shifts his own hips forward, relishing the feeling of his cock dragging against me. "Can we just stay like this?"

He nibbles at my ear but doesn't say anything. All three of us know the answer to my question. Even if we ignored the danger of letting Lucio - no, not Lucio, not really - the Devil, I suppose, or Valdemar succeed with whatever they have planned, Nadia would probably spend Portia down to drag us out to the party. But - mmm, Julian lips suck at a sensitive place at the base of my neck - there's a little time. Right? We deserve that much.

“What do you need, darling?” His fingers begin to knead across my part. “What can I do?”

“Just relax, Julian.” I sit up straighter and cradle his head against my chest, rubbing the back of his neck and his scalp. “You've taken care of everyone except yourself.”

“But -” He begins to protest then sinks against me with a moan as a bit of the tightness in his shoulders starts to work free. I mourn a little as his hands leave my back, but they settle against my hips and that touch is almost as good.

I lean close to his ear as he melts around me. "Good boy. Like that."

The water moves behind me, and Asra's lips touch my shoulder. "Excellent idea." He climbs out of the water and wraps himself in a robe, while I continue caressing Julian's arms and back, murmuring praises and wishing that I was better at this.

Asra speaks my name softly and hands me a jar with some sort of salt scrub. It's a bit on the coarse side, but Asra knows his subject well. Julian quivers with pleasure when I start working it over his skin. "Darling..." 

"Good?"

"I, um, yes, I ... Are you?"

I chuckle and pull him even closer to me, rubbing circles on his back. "Of course, honey, my sweet. I'm holding you."

Asra sits on the edge of the tub, dangling his legs in the water on either side of Julian. He scoops water up in his hands and pours it over Julian's back, rinsing away the salt, then drizzles oil over his hands from a bottle. Tangy citrus scents the air around us as he kneads Julian's shoulders. Julian leans back, draping his arms over Asra's thighs.

Asra smiles and his hands keep smoothing over Julian's arms. "Perfect, Ilya." His eyelashes flutter closed, and he tips his head back against Asra's chest, another moan slipping out from between his lips.

I reach for the bottle of oil and rub a bit between my palms before pressing them against the middle of Julian's chest and slowly smoothing them up and out, fingers brushing over his collarbone, out to his shoulders, down his arms, and to his beautiful hands. The stress he's been carrying dissipates bit by bit, a little more with each touch and whispered praise. I press my thumbs into his palms and twine our fingers together working our wrists slowly until I feel them begin to loosen. Leaning forward, I touch my lips to the tip of his nose and then lean my forehead against his.

"I love you so much." I can't imagine life without him, without Asra. I wouldn't want to live without . . . I raise my face. Asra's eyes are half-closed, and he's humming happily to himself, or to Julian, or to all three of us. My fingers close around Asra's and I bring his hand from Julian's shoulder to my mouth, kissing his knuckles. He opens his eyes a little more, looking down at me, and the curves of his mouth curve into a smile.

"I understand." The whisper barely makes it past the more reasonable, logical, perhaps even ethical part of my mind, but it does. But it's true. 

Julian stirs a little from the trance he's fallen into, and I kiss his forehead again. No, darling, there's nothing bad. Not right here. Not right now.

Asra tilts his head to the side and his brows furrow. He lifts my chin, staring intently into my eyes. "Dema?"

"Why you did what you did. I understand."

Julian opens his eyes at my comment, suddenly observant, but he doesn’t say anything. He only runs his knuckles up and down my back. 

Asra's thumb brushes over my lips, and his eyes widen before crinkling at the corners. "You do?"

"I still don't know how I feel about whether you should have. But... I understand."

"That's something." He leans over, curling around Julian, and kisses me softly.

Julian follows his movement, taking over the kiss as Asra leans back and unhooking his other elbow from around Asra’s thigh. He closes them around my back pulling me tight against him, holding the kiss until I break away to catch my breath. I sigh against him, and his hands run down my back and to my thighs. There’s a soft splash, and the water behind me moves again, and Asra's hands find my shoulders, then my back, sliding around my side and beneath Julian and me to close over my breasts, kneading at soft flesh. One hand pulls back for a moment, then pushes between the two of us again, turned the other way to move over Julian's chest. Asra's fingers close around my nipple pinching gently, and from Julian's moan against my neck, I can only assume that Asra's doing something similar to him with his other hand. Probably rougher, given the sounds Julian makes.

“Isn't it bad form - oh! To fuck in a shared bath?”

“Not if there's a spell woven into the architecture that keeps everything clean and nice for the next horny lovers.” Asra's mouth closes on the back of my neck, nipping at the skin there. “Trust me, this entire place was designed for hedonism.”

I whine as he nibbles at my neck again. His cock slides against the inside of my thigh and Julian moans again as he and Asra brush against each other. “Mmm, do that again, please.”

With a little laugh, Asra thrusts between my legs again, dragging himself against Julian, against me, and the feel of them both is intoxicating. His teeth find my earlobe, closing around it and tugging insistently.

“Want you.” It's a gasp, but I do, want to be fucked until all I'm thinking about is their bodies close to mine. Maybe not thinking of anything at all. Drown all the questions in a sea of touch and sensation and warm skin against mine. “Both of you.”

Julian pulls back and blinks up at me. “You just, um...”

“Any way you want me.” I dip my hand - still slick with oil that hasn't washed away - into the water, close my fingers around Julian's cock, and rub up and down his hardening length. I roll my hips forward and down, teasing myself against him. He groans and leans against me, laying his head on my shoulder, and Asra presses his chest against my back, and I’m marvelously caught between the both of them with soft lips on both sides of my neck. I line Julian up and sink down on him slowly, savoring the feel of him inside me, the sensation of my body contained in their arms, their skin affirming the limits of my skin, the reality of physical being.

Asra grinds himself against my rear, alternating love bites on the back of my neck with gentle kisses along my shoulder. One hand remains on my breasts. The other, still coated in oil, slides down my spine and begins to circle my asshole, following the rolls of my hips against Julian. I gasp as I rock backward and the tip of his finger slips in, then teasingly out as I shift forward again. He thrusts in to the first knuckle, I think, at the next of my hips, then stays with me, circling his fingers and gradually pushing deeper. With a groan, I lean my head back on his shoulder. Even a single, slender digit curling just a bit to push against the thin wall separating Asra’s touch from Julian’s cock adds to the sense of being full, being complete. 

Asra catches my wince as he pushes a second finger experimentally against me and draws back. “Enough?” He whispers the question in my ear, as Julian’s movements against me pause.

“Yeah. Maybe... more time”

He kisses my jaw and begins moving his hand again in time with my own pace. “Better now?”

“Mmm.... yes.”

Julian’s fingers find my hair and pull me toward him until his lips can find mine. He whines against my mouth, and I bury my own hand in his damp curls, pulling his head back to expose more of his neck to my own lips and teeth, biting and sucking at the soft skin as hard as I dare, encouraged by the moans slipping past his lips. His long arm brushes against my sides and he reaches past me to clasp Asra. He quickens his pace, lifting his hips and snapping them against mine.

I can feel my toes start to curl, and my body begins to tighten around both of them. Asra grasps my chin with the other, pulling my head back and pressing his cheek to me as he continues to grind against my thigh. "Not yet. Hold back for me."

"Fuck!"

Asra laughs and I can imagine his smirk as Julian’s hips continue to move, thrusting himself into me. Asra’s free hand nudges mine from between my legs and his fingers toy with my clit, torturously slow and out of time with Julian’s movements, simultaneously pleasurable and frustrating. Julian’s breaths quicken and he bites his lip as he approaches his peak. Asra’s hands slow, then pause and withdraw entirely from my body. Julian tenses as he comes, cock pulsing, inside of me. When I let go of Julian’s hair, he slumps against me, and I run my hands over his shoulders and back, clenching myself around him while his breathing slows. He stills, then lets go of me, and leans back, stretching his arms out along the edges of the tub, head tilted back and eyes closed. As he moves his cock slips out of me, leaving me desperately empty. 

Before I have time to whine, Asra nips the back of my neck, lifts me out of the water, spins me around, and lays me down on my back, legs still dangling in the sunken tub. Asra's smirking as he looks down at me and runs his hands over my thighs, outside, inside, skipping the center because he's a cruel tease, up my heaving chest to cup both breasts. "Asra..." I push myself up on my elbows with a whimper. 

"Yes, my love." Asra sounds entirely, infuriatingly calm. His hands leave my breasts, and he lifts one of my legs over his shoulder and brushes his lips against the inside of my thigh. Deliberately, excruciatingly slowly. 

"Please, I need . . ."

"Mmmhm?" He moves forward, pressing that leg closer to my chest. "You need something?" Even as he's teasing, I can feel him lining himself up with me.

"You, please. Don't be -"

"Be what, my love?"

"An insufferable tease."

He arches an eyebrow at me. "That's too many syllables."

"Oh my god!" I lay back against the tiled floor. "Fuck me, please."

"Well -" He presses forward sliding easily, slowly into me as I lift my hips to meet him. "Since you asked so nicely."

I keen with relief as he starts to move inside me. Julian rolls over next to me, half out of the water. His hand closes over one breast kneading and circling my nipple with his thumb. Tension and warmth build again in my belly and between my legs, and I move in time with Asra's thrusts, pulling him closer to me with my legs. He murmurs in my ear - praises, encouragements - and I’m only too happy to dissolve around him, into ragged cries of pleasure, and peak with a scream that turns into delighted laughter as the muscles in my center contract and lift my back from the floor. The pull and drag of him against my sensitive in the time it takes for him to come as well are exquisite torture. Too much. Not enough. Never enough. I hold him tight against me through his orgasm, unwilling to let him go, even as he softens inside me. He lays his head on my chest, and Julian moves closer to us, running his hand along Asra’s back and pressing his lips to my shoulder. Everything gradually slows and stills. Asra pulls back, catching my hands and tugging my extremely messy body back into the tub with him. He cradles me against him, whispering more phrases that I can’t quite make out, but that sound sweet in my ear, and stroking my back.

My fingers and toes are turning to prunes when I'm fully back down to earth. The towels stacked by the edge of the v the are soft and fluffy, and I only manage to start drying myself before Julian takes over the job, wrapping me tight and pressing water from my hair. 

Asra locates a sigil bear the door and traces it, activating a spell that pulses through the steamy room, cleaning - if not tidying it. Designed for hedonism indeed. I wonder how many of those ideas were Nadia’s. 

I finish toweling off my hair and stare at our pile of clothes, upper lip curling in disgust. I don't fancy putting the filthy garments back on, but I also don't fancy traipsing through the palace in a sheer robe. 

Julian picks up his shirt from the floor and shakes it out. "This isn't too bad. You could wear this, if you want."

Asra chuckles and links arms with both Julian and me. "Hold on."

A dizzying second later we're back in my opulent guest room, discarded clothing on the floor beside our feet. I steady myself against Julian, disoriented by the sudden transition. “How’d you do that?” Once set up, portals require no magic, but setting one up - especially with no preparation - needs a not-insignificant amount of power.

“Mmm... plenty of magic in sex.”

Julian kneads my shoulders and groans. Not the happy kind of groan either. "Oh, good, sex magic. Magicky sex."

Asra purrs. "Oh honey, if you -"

"Maybe, um, later. Later when there aren't quite as many magicky things non-sex things threatening everything in very not sexy ways."

"Fair, love, fair."

Julian's arms wrap around me, and he digs his fingers into my bare thighs lifting me up until he can kiss my face and neck. I curl around him, returning the kisses, then stiffen suddenly, touching one hand to Julian’s neck and leaning back enough to see his eyes widen. 

“What? What is it?”

"It's -" I trail my fingers down to his chest. The marks from where I kissed and bit him are still there, vivid purple against his pale skin. "Your mark. It's not working."

"It's not?" He sets me down, steps to a nearby mirror and grins like a fool, tugging the bruises almost reverently. "Well, that's, um, a strange kind of relief."

Asra embraces Julian from behind and runs his fingers over the hollow of his throat and down his chest. "I can heal those. Easy enough."

"No, leave them. For now. At least."

"You're going to have to be more careful, Ilya."

"Me?" Julian arches an eyebrow and turns around in Asra's arms before lifting him off the floor and kissing the top of his head. "I'm always careful."

I hear Asra's eyes rolling as Julian sets him back down. "No, really. Be more careful, please, for me."

"Alright, alright. I got it. Careful." Julian sprawls across the bed, ignoring how his robe falls open, or deliberately choosing to leave it so. There's a roughly equal probability of either statement being true, or maybe they’re both true. If I sketched him right now, the only possible title for the study would be lassitude. He stretches out an arm and pats the space next to him. "C'mon, it's still light outside. Right? Isn't it? Masquerade things won’t start for a bit."

Asra glances out the window, then draws the sheer curtain over it. "I suppose there's time to close our eyes for a few minutes." He lets his own robe drop to the floor, climbs into bed beside Julian, and pats the space between them, smiling at me. I return the smile and scrunch my hair again with a towel before draping it over the back of a chair and crawling in bed between them. Julian drowsily kisses my forehead as I lay my head on his chest, and Asra wraps himself around me, chest pressed to my back, smoothing his fingers over my still damp hair.

Julian’s breath steadies and a bit more of the tension he still carries eases from the muscles in his shoulders and chest. I keep my eyes shut, trying to just be in the moment, to not worry about the other things that must be accomplished, that have to be accomplished. How Julian’s right eye is still a violet carmine red; how the same color marks the beetles that are beginning to swarm on the outskirts of the city where the nobility keep their estates; how there’s some larger, greater game that Asra has all three of us tangled in because I can’t believe that being like the Devil is interested in one small city-state or one petty tyrant alone; and how, certainly, _certainly_ the voices that I heard weren’t just figments of my imagination - even if, for once in my life, the prospect of hearing things that aren’t there seems better than the alternative. I don’t want them interested in me. I don’t want to play a central role in this.

No, better to only pay attention to the rise and fall of Julian’s chest beneath my hand and Asra’s fingers in my hair.

When my eyes flutter open again, I’m laying on my back, with Julian still dozing beside me. Asra lies on his side, head propped up on one hand, trailing his fingers lightly across my stomach and watching me through half-lidded eyes, and I wonder how many times he’s done this in the past, looked at me like that in the past, and I just didn’t notice it. I smile at him again and roll over on my side. His hand stays on my side, but he lies down, nose nearly touching mine.

"Three years," I whisper. 

"Hmm?"

"Three years. You slept next to me, held me, that whole time. And you never said anything. That we were together before -"

"I... It just didn't feel... It would have been like forcing you to love me. If you thought that you were supposed to."

I snuggle against his chest and twine my fingers around his. "I understand. I do. And, really, I'm grateful that -" I hold his hand to my chest. "That you did leave me that choice. But some nights, when you left, I'd wonder if you didn't want me - if I was just a burden to you."

"Never, dear heart. Never." His lips press against the top of my head.

"Why did you go so often?"

"Because I was afraid that I'd break down, tell you everything, and lose you yet again. After that first time, I - I couldn't risk it."

"It was that bad?" I knew - I know that I've had bad spells. Even somewhat like the disorientation of this morning. Nothing so intense, at least not before, but I am here. I survived. And I can't recall anything like what Asra had hinted at, of being so caught in some horrible little world of my own that I just wasn't responding to this one. Of course, that was something of the point.

"It was, my love." He touches his fingers to my temple, running a small circle, but no magic flares beneath them. His eyes are sad, perhaps even a little haunted. "I didn't - I never took your memories lightly. Please, believe me."

"I want to." I do. I should. If he had really wanted to control me, things would be different. I'd probably be sitting in the shop right now, perfectly content with a cup of tea in one hand, a book in the other, and a head full of stories true or not about how happy I was in the past with him. But he hadn't filled my head with such things. Surely that says something.

A silver lining for the aching emptiness of my past life. If there's nothing there, it can't be a lie.

Outside the window, the sky is darkening. Asra sits up and leans over me to kiss Julian on the cheek. "We should probably get dressed."

Julian grumbles something and rolls on his side, nuzzling his face into my shoulder and throwing an arm around me. Asra rolls his eyes and gets out of bed, finding a discarded robe and wrapping himself in it. “I believe Nadia was planning costumes for all three of us.” He pads to the wardrobe, opens it up, and makes a satisfied sound.

I loosen myself from Julian’s embrace and sit up, stretching my arms above my head. What I’d really like at the moment is one of Portia’s perfectly timed trays of coffee and snacks. Julian rearranges himself so that his head is in my lap and mumbles something that sounds like “five more minutes.” I run my fingers through his hair and feel bad about waking him. 

Asra touches the lamp next to me, illuminating it with magic and hands me a note written in exquisite script on heavy lavender paper.

_Dear Asra, I hope that these costumes will be to your satisfaction. I believe they will complement the masks you kindly allowed me to see; although, I fear that they can hardly match your sublime work. ~ Nadia_

“They are perfect, of course. The costumes that is.” Asra edges onto the bed beside me holding a mask - wrapped in silk - in his hand. He hands me the small package and twines an arm around my shoulders. “It’s not actually new. I hope you don’t mind.”

I unfold the silk. The half-mask underneath is a swirl of colors - cool, jewel tones on one side, warm brights on the other. A jagged rift, repaired and gilded, cuts across the forehead, the bridge of the nose, and one cheek. I draw my finger along the scar that he turned into something beautiful and smile.

“Asra, it’s perfect.” I lean my head against his shoulder.

“It’s the first one I made for you. I tried to think of something new, and most people dress as some sort of animal. But I found this the other day at the shop, and it just still seemed more right than any other one I’ve made for you in the past.”

I grin and kiss his cheek. It’s sweet, and somehow it’s reassuring to have something of my old self back. “Was I ever an animal?”

“A cat, an otter . . . You said you had a theme - cute and cuddly with violent tendencies. And one year you didn’t feel like going, so you informed me you were a three-toed sloth and spent the week reading books and day drinking in the shop.” 

“Hmm . . . What did you make for Julian?”

“Oh, Ilya’s easy.” He produces another mask from his bag - a raven.

“Loud, dramatic, and attracted to shiny things?”

“Precisely.”

Asra looks down at Julian and runs the back of his fingers along his jawline. Julian stubbornly ignores our conversation, or he’s too exhausted to even register it. “Don’t worry. I can pester him until he wakes up.” Asra winks at me and climbs across both mine and Julian’s legs. He lifts Julian out of my lap rubbing his shoulders and leaning over to nibble at the back of his neck. I can think of worse ways to be forced into the waking world.

Yawning and rubbing my eyes, I crawl out of bed and step into the bath to splash some water on my face and rinse out my mouth. Julian is upright by the time I step back in the bedroom, and Asra is engaged in taking costumes from the wardrobe and laying them out on the foot of the bed and the back of the sofa. The one intended for Julian is clear - a black coat trimmed with feathers, charcoal grey slacks, and a pair of boots, yet again ridiculously high. Asra pulls on a white silk skirt that drapes to the floor in elegant drapes. That leaves the third costume for me.

The Countess appears to have discerned a bit more of my personal taste. My costume is a trim cut dress of silk, dyed to match the mask. High silts trimmed with gold embroidery reach to the waist. There’s a pair of soft grey leggings to wear underneath it. And - importantly - a choice of footwear: high heels or a pair of flat slippers.

A diaphanous, sheer blouse tops Asra’s costume, partly covered by a lavender vest, and nipped in at the waist by a broad sash. He helps me with my own costume, wrapping a sash similar to his around my waist and fussing with how the neckline lays against my chest. Finally, he retrieves a necklace from a pocket in his sash and drapes it around my neck - the sapphire that Nadia had given me, the one that felt so strongly of him. His lips brush against my cheek, then with a smile, he takes my hand and spins me around like we’re dancing.

Julian catches me at the end of the twirl and pulls me close. “Gorgeous,” he whispers in my ear. His shirt is still undone and an untied cravat hangs around his neck. 

“Do you really think so?” I like this gown, if for no other reason than it's so unfussy that I'll be able to forget that I'm wearing it.

“Of course. I’ll have my eyes glued to you all night.” 

“Remember we do have a job to do.” Asra turns Julian a little to the side and runs his fingers over Julian’s neck, healing the uppermost of the lovebites. He leaves the ones that Julian’s shirt and necktie will cover (at least, for as long as those remain fastened). 

“Right, right. Save the city and all that. Got it.” Julian puts his mask on and tosses his hair over the right side, hiding his red eye.

Asra continues moving, quickly pulling my own hair back in braids that will hold it away from my face but leave most of it loose. He kisses my cheek and ties the colorful half-mask over my face. “Ready, my loves?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, not much else to say here. More plot next week.


	5. Mass Hallucination on the Ballroom Floor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Devotchka, "Whiskey Breath". Cover image, Ilya Repin, Sadko

* * *

The halls of the palace buzz with revelers. I hang on tightly to Julian’s arm, trying not to trip over any of the guests. Julian pulls us both to the side to dodge a herd of drunks in white goat masks. Some even have glittering red paint about the eyes, glowing in the muted lamplight. But I don’t feel the malevolent coldness that suffused Lucio’s chambers or hear any hisses in my ear, so I do my best to ignore them. 

“I didn't know how crowded it would be.” Asra holds Julian’s other arm. “Do you think we’ll be able to pick out the people Lucio might be planning to use to complete the ritual?”

“Did you bring your cards? Maybe they’ll help. Resonant with certain guests, or -” I roll my free hand through the air. “Something like that.”

“It’s worth a try.” Asra reaches into his sash and pulls out two decks of cards, his and mine both. My hand shakes a little when I hold it out for my deck. I’m not at all sure that I want to touch them again. Not after everything that happened earlier, but no visions or voices assault me when I wrap my fingers around them. “Probably should have discussed a plan already.”

“Let’s get out of the hallway, at least. Umm.” Julian peers over the heads of the crowd, then catches a break in the foot traffic and pulls us across the hall into a smaller room, where the majority of the occupants are silent marble statues. Another masquerade guest, wearing an elephant mask and conspicuously informal clothing, stands on the other side of the room, studying a statue so skillfully crafted that the stone looks like an actual veil drawn over the figures. Julian stops, halting Asra and me as he does. “Is that?” His voice rises with excitement. “Dr. Satrinava - is that you?”

The guest turns toward us, head tilted slightly to the side. “Hmmm.... that voice -” Their intonation is teasing. “Who could that be?

Julian gathers them into an enthusiastic hug, the beak of his mask clatters against the tusks of Dr. Satrinava’s elephant disguise. Satrinava - one of Nadia's sisters that Portia invited without leave. Julian certainly seems delighted with their presence.

“Ooph! I can’t believe you recognized me with this thing on.” They step back and take off their mask, pushing bright red hair streaked with white back under a loose scarf. “You look well for a dead man. ‘Dia filled me in. I’m still not very happy with her for hanging you. And you -” They grab his ear and twist it, half in play and half in earnest. “You had better be done taking foolish risks - at least for the year.”

“Ow.”

Beneath my fingers, my cards begin to pulse with energy. Asra and I meet each other’s gaze at the same moment, but before we can speak, we’re pulled forward by Julian. “Let me introduce you. Ahem, Dr. Satrinava, this is Asra and Dema, my, er -” He looks back and forth between us helplessly. 

Dr. Satrinava winks at me. “Yours, yes, I understand. It’s a pleasure to meet both of you. Nadia has told me about how you’ve assisted her.”

“And this is Dr. Nazali Satrinava.”

“You can just call me Nazali. I’ve been trying to get Ilya to for years now.”

“But, I can't just, you taught me almost everything I know -”

“Ah, imagine what it would be like if you had retained even half of what I taught you.” Nazali laughs and elbows him in the side. “If your letters were at all accurate, I’d say you learned a few things on your own before the plague was over.”

“The plague? Over? Oh, I wouldn’t count on that.”

I whirl around at the sound of the voice, and Julian tenses beside me. His hand curls into mine, and he curls in on himself, shoulders hunching, one or two inches of height vanishing. I know that voice, and I only know of one person who has that effect on Ilya. Valdemar’s uncannily still figure could be mistaken for one of the statues were it not for the black veil with an embroidered with a white death’s head draped over their pointed headdress.

Asra attempts to block them as they move smoothly - smoother than any gait should be - toward me. Valdemar clicks their tongue and shakes their head at Asra. “Now, now, Thaumaturge. Haven’t I only ever been helpful to you in the past?” Their upper body remains perfectly still as they side step Asra, hovering over me and tilting their weight onto the balls of their feet. “I wonder how long you’ll survive this time.”

“What are you talking about?” Asra’s voice is low, and I can see cold begin to coalesce around his fingers, drawing moisture from the air into shards of ice. Julian grabs my shoulder and pulls me against him. Protecting me? Defending himself? Both? His heart pounds under my ear, and he wraps one arm around me.

“I’m merely looking forward to the return. It won’t be long now. And -” They raise their gaze to Julian. “It would seem, Zero Six Nine, that your bargain has been invalidated. 

“That’s enough.” Nazali’s voice changes from their earlier playful tone becoming entirely regal - imperious. “Take your ill omens elsewhere.”

“Dr. Satrinava, don’t -” Julian’s warning is cut off by an uncharacteristic squeak from Valdemar.

“Dr. Satrinava?” They sound thrilled, and I think I might be more terrified of them than I was a moment before. “How fortuitous! I am Quaestor Valdemar. I led research during the Red Plague. I have many questions about your initial discovery of the plague! The symptoms, the progression of the disease in the dying body . . . Perhaps we might converse elsewhere?”

Julian’s arm tightens around me, and his chest expands with a deep breath, but before he can speak Nazali answers. “Very well. The veranda. I’ll meet you there.”

“I look forward to it.” They sketch a shallow bow and back away for several steps before spinning on their heel. Their head and shoulders remain immobile as they leave the room, opening and closing the door silently. 

Asra glares until they’re gone, then releases the magic from around his fingertips. He turns to me, curling one hand around my face and pressing the other to my chest, just about my heart. “Are you alright?”

I nod slowly. “I’m fine.”

He reaches up and touches Julian’s cheek. “Ilya?”

Julian lets out the breath he’s been holding and lets go of me. “Dr. Satrinava, is that really a good idea? Valdemar is . . . they’re . . .”

“Yes, yes, I remember from your letters.” They pat his shoulder reassuringly. “I’ll be fine. There are plenty of other people on the veranda. And, this could be a very enlightening conversation for me as well.”

"Are you sure?"

"I thought you might have been exaggerating the Quaestor's nature in your letters, Ilya -"

"I wouldn't!"

Nazali arches an eyebrow at Julian and he falls silent, looking down and shuffling his boots against the floor. "But now that I've met them... A fae origin for the red plague might be on the table of reasonable hypotheses. How long had they been part of Lucio's entourage? Do you know?"

"They weren't around when I was, well, um, I don't think they were."

"And those other members of the court? The drunk was the only one who hadn't made himself completely scarce the last time I was here, and he seemed all too human, but you mentioned some other oddities."

Julian shakes his head. "I don't _think_ so. But if they weren't part of the day to day happenings in the camp, I wouldn't know. Lu never really involved me in business, per se." He glances around awkwardly, and Asra squeezes his shoulder. "Did you -?"

"I can't find records of anything like the Red Plague occurring somewhere Lucio wasn't or hadn't been recently. And the gap between his arrival in Vesuvia and the outbreak here - that doesn't make sense either. Nearly a decade with no signs of the plague and then - boom! If Valdemar and the other creepers - as you so named them - have something to do with, where were they? Why were they quiet for a time?"

"Dr. Satri -" Julian tries and fails to break into their soliloquy. 

"And then the city's recovery was no less astonishing. Yes, Lucio was gone, but -"

"Nazali,” Asra interrupts. “We need to talk. All of us."

"You've more information?"

"Yes.” Julian picks the conversation back up. “And more questions."

“You always have more questions.” They smile fondly and raise a hand to mess with Julian's hair. He catches their wrist and removes his mask, revealing his eye. Nazali freezes. They take a half step back, then a full one forward and touch the side of Julian's face. "Yes. Yes, I see we do. Well." They square their hands on their hips and look at me and Asra. "Has he eaten today?"

"Not really.” I sell him out without regrets.

“To be fair -" Julian points a finger at Asra and then at me. “Neither of you have eaten either.”

Nazali rolls their eyes. "For fucks sake, Ilya! When will you learn? Come." They hook their arm in mine, and for a moment, they very much remind me of Nadia. "First things first. Can't think properly with low blood sugar."

Back in the hallway, Nazali is every ounce a Satrinava. They flag down a servant, and we’re shortly ensconced in a private room with a tray of delicacies, steaming pots of tea and coffee and no small selection of liquors and wine. Nazali pours themself a glass of wine - red, I note, not like their sister in that - and sits cross-legged on a stack of cushions. They give Julian enough time to pound a cup of coffee and eat something pastry drinking with honey before they reach over and peel the mask off his face.

“Now, let’s get a look at this, shall we?” They push back his hair with one hand and hold his chin with the other, turning his head from side to side. They click their tongue against the roof of their mouth. “Ah, ah, ah - my child, what did you get yourself into this time?”

“Well, um, some of it you already know, from the letters that I set -”

“Nonetheless, start at the beginning. Eat while you’re talking.” 

I’m slightly impressed with my former self as Julian describes my role during the plague. How we met. How I was actually useful to the city, easing the suffering a little, even if I couldn’t stop it. Or maybe it’s just in his telling that I sound mildly heroic. But one of the shades had called me the healer, so maybe there’s something underneath the layers that Julian has added.

My death is no surprise now, even if it’s still jarring to hear the words spoken. Julian’s voice cracks when he speaks them, and I run a hand along his arm, reminding both of us that I’m here now. He glosses over the tumultuous relationship with Asra; although, I suspect that Nazali hears about as much in the words that he doesn’t say as I do. 

“Well, anyway, Lucio was frustrated with how no cure had been found, and he thought I needed some motivation - and maybe he thought it would motivate you, Asra, I don’t know - next thing I know there’s a plague beetle in my mouth and -”

“He did what?” I grab Julian’s hand in both of mine and drag him closer to me.

Nazali curses in what sounds like several languages.

Asra’s spine straightens, and his face blanches as the words leave Julian’s lips. He lifts his hand to his shoulder as if he’s reaching for Faust, and when she’s not there, it drops back slowly to his lap. He shakes his head - just a little - and clutches my knee.

"No, it's, well, it's not okay, but still I don't think that I would have, I mean, I know that I wouldn't have -"

"Ilya, he forced you to eat a plague beetle!"

"I know, I know. But what I mean is I don't, I wouldn't have even tried to communicate with the Hanged Man if I hadn't been in a fever dream and then I wouldn't have known that killing Lucio was the cure for the plague, and . . ."

"What happened next?"

Asra takes over with a heavy sigh, explaining what he can of the ritual, what he'd learned on his own, how Valdemar gave him the book with the rest. He holds my hand tightly at the end, describing how I was just there as the fire died away, there but with no memories. Nazali almost manages to hide the scrutinizing look in my direction. But the next part of the story is mine, Nadia and Julian in my shop the night Asra left, the red water, Muriel's story, the Magician, and Lucio's ghost. Julian's trial and an abbreviated version of today.

“So, let me see if I have this straight... Dema, you - I’m sorry, but I can’t put this delicately - died of the plague.” Asra shivers and holds my hand under the table. 

“Ilya, you nearly died of the plague and somehow made contact with one of the Arcana - the Hanged Man - who told you that Lucio’s existence was the cause of the Plague, and sent you back with one red eye as a memento. Asra, you took instruction from Valdemar -”

“I couldn’t find another way!” 

“And -” Their voice isn’t cruel, but it’s firm. “Performed some sort of spell or ritual or something that summoned the Devil and allowed him to channel the power of the Major Arcana - at least some portion of them. The Count thought the purpose was to create a new body for him. The two of you cut deals to bring Dema back from the dead and end the plague. Dema returned, but without her memories. Lucio died in a mysterious fire, and Ilya dramatically confessed to the murder. The plague simply... Went away. When it had always lingered before, even after Lucio moved on from an area.”

“That’s what I understand, I mean, what I heard when I got back.” Julian shrugs. “People who weren’t dead just rose from their beds whole and hale.”

Nazali taps their fingers thoughtfully against their chin. “Hmm... so when he’s gone entirely... Anyway, meanwhile, my sister fell into an inexplicable coma for most of the next three years, of which I would have known nothing -” They pause and fix Julian with a stern look. “Had it not been for a chance meeting between Nahara, your sister, and your grandmother. And when Nadia woke, she consulted Dema based on her dreams. The plague beetles have appeared on the peripheries, there’s something red seeping into the water, and Lucio’s ghost roused. Ilya, you gambled that allowing yourself to hang would restore your memories. Asra, you believe there will be a second attempt at this ritual. A complete one, restoring Lucio and presumably accomplishing something for Valdemar and the Devil. Tonight.” 

“It sounds insane.” Asra looks down at his hands. “I know.”

Nazali sighs and refills their glass. “No more than other things I’ve heard and seen.” They drain half the glass then nudge Julian. “Eat a bite more, Ilya. You two as well.” Asra picks a sweet roll from the plate and tears it apart, offering half to me. It’s cinnamon, I think. I can’t really taste it.

Nazali stares off to the side, out the window. They nibble at the side of their thumb, the same habit Nadia falls into when worried. Beyond the curtains, I can see the flashes, hear the booms of fireworks being set off in the gardens. Asra wraps his arms around my shoulders, and I curl against him.

“And your cards? They somehow alerted you that I am somehow important to this ritual tonight?”

“Yes.” I retrieve my deck and hold it out to them. Judgment remains at the top of the deck, face-up, blowing a trumpet to call all forth from their graves. They touch the card, then look up at me, mouth curling into an ironic half grin that reminds me of Julian’s.

“Hmm.” They lean back against the sofa cushions. “Who do you think is really in charge?”

“What do you mean?” Asra shuffles his own cards as if they might give him a straightforward answer. We should all know better than that by now.

“The Devil? Or Valdemar? Certainly, the Quaestor knew when they gave you that book that the ritual would be incomplete if you carried it out then, without participants standing in for all the Arcana. What did they gain from that ploy?”

“I...” Asra’s voice trails off.

“Who knows what Valdemar wants?” Julian breaks off a piece from a crispy pastry. “I definitely, I do not.”

“But you might need to. To untangle all of this.” Nazali sets aside their wine glass and claps their hands together. “Well then. I would say that the three of you should continue to try to find the others who might be used in this ritual. I will find my sister. See what kind of precautions she may already be taking. Or could take.”

Julian brushes crumbs from his suit coat with the back of his hand. “And, uh, Valdemar?” 

Nazali groans and rearranges their hair and scarf. “Yes, yes. I’ll still meet with them briefly and very much in public. Perhaps I can get a bit of information from them, now that I’m better armed.” They pat Julian’s knee, tweak his ear, and stand, fixing their mask back over their face. “Take care, all three of you.” 

* * *

We’ve better prepared for the crowds when we step back into the hallway. Asra holds his deck in front of him, and I keep my fingers touching mine in my sash pocket. The cards buzz and hum as if they now know their mission, and Asra and I follow the direction they seem to want to go. They led us to a high ceiled chamber, smaller, but no less grand than the main ballroom. Like the hallway, fabrics drape the walls, but these banners glow with the colors of the rainbow. To one side, a grand buffet is set out, the foods grouped by color and again ordered by the rainbow. The rest of the floor is divided, roughly evenly, between tables where small groups of laughing guests are congregating to feast and a dance floor with a corner set aside for a band.

Asra looks around the room, then sighs when he sees Procurator Volta’s tiny form. She’s working steadily down one side of the buffet table, feeding herself directly from the dishes. Asra turns over the top card of his deck and shows it to me. Temperance, extremely upside down. “Nothing I didn’t already know.”

“Volta?”

“Yes.”

“The others? Three years ago?” There’s a flash of red light behind my eyes, and I press my hands to my head. Julian’s hands close around my shoulders, steadying me. “Who were they again?”

“Temperance. The Tower. Justice. And Death.” Asra’s voice sounds as if he’s speaking from a nightmare, but at least, the fire hasn’t lingered in my head. I don’t need Julian to hold me upright.

“And the Hierophant, yes?” I lift my face and roll my head a bit, letting the muscles in my neck stretch. “Valerius.”

“Yes.” Asra’s lips press into a tight line. “He was there too.” 

I look over at Volta. She’s eating directly from the serving dishes with no regard for a personal plate or the disgusted stares she’s drawing from the guests. “They all seem very reversed if the Court stood in for them.” The Praetor’s ‘justice’ to a greater degree than Volta’s gluttony. And while the Tower was a card of destruction, upright there is some end, some greater good to be had. Not just nihilistic pleasure in violence.

“Yes. Yes, they do.” Asra brushes his fingers across my jaw and kisses my cheek. “I’m going to circle the half of the room with the tables, see if anything - I mean, anyone - jumps out. You and Ilya take a spin on the other side. At least you'll have a bit of fun.”

“And you?”

“Don’t worry, dear heart. I’ll dance with you before the night’s out.”

Julian coughs loudly, and Asra rolls his eyes. “You too.” His dimple appears in his cheek as he smiles. “Of course, you too.”

I stand on my toes to kiss Asra’s cheek; then I extend a hand to Julian. “Dance with me then?” 

He smiles - the same unironic expression of happiness that I first saw earlier - and presses my knuckles to his lips. “Of course, _solnishka_.”

We clasp hands, and he wraps one arm around my back, pulling me onto the dance floor. I place my other hand on his shoulder, as best I’m able, given the difference in our heights. “Maybe I should have worn those heels.” 

“We - you and I, I mean - work fine as dance partners, I promise.”

My muscles remember the steps somehow, and we fall into the controlled, energetic steps, following the rhythm. Every movement feels familiar. Like so many other things, as soon as I begin, I know how to do it; although, I can't remember how I learned. 

“Was I always a dancer?”

Julian laughs. “You were always good at it - wild and following the rhythm rather than set steps - but I hope you remember learning this dance at some point.”

The steps pull us apart - arms outstretched for a moment. Close to him, I look up. “Why?” I don't want to have lost the time before forever, but the sense that I will never recover the majority of it has been growing stronger. Asra and Julian's memories, piecemeal as they are, may be my best chance to understand something of who I was and what we were.

“I taught you. We both, erm, needed a distraction at the time. From everything else.”

“I had a good teacher then.”

We step around each other, and then I lean back into his arm, shivering from his breath across my collarbones. “Just the best.” The pace of the music slows, and Julian pulls me close to him. “Julian?” I take a deep breath and lean against his chest, reconsidering what I want to ask.

“Yes, my darling.”

“What you told Nazali -” I swallow hard. This is a stupid question to be afraid to ask. “The parts about me - is it true?”

“You were the only good thing in my life then, solnishka.”

“It's just, I - it's hard to believe that I could have done that, could have been something other than an absolute wreck.” The kind that either sleeps too little and drinks too much to do anything well or the version that can barely get out of bed long enough to eat and drink. The version of myself that I’m most familiar with. “I would have - I can't believe I didn't just fall apart.”

“Well.” He runs his hands over my back. “I can't say you didn't struggle. You had moments. I had moments too. But -” He leans over and kisses the top of my head. “But you still got through. You still did so much. And I wouldn't have managed for so long without you. I didn't, when I offered my memories as a trade, I didn't think that I deserved them. Not, not when I let you -”

“Hush, Ilya, you remember now.”

“Right, and there’s a future for me now.” He lifts me into a spin, and I wrap a leg around his back, the high slits in my skirt facilitating the movement. “I can teach you so many other dances.”

My cheeks are warm when he sets me down on the floor. “I look forward to it.”

“That’s still a strange idea - looking forward. But I - I think I like it.”

Forward. Yes, forward is still a strange idea, if only because we have to get through the present, through tonight. 

The music stops abruptly. I remain pressed against Julian for a moment, then step back, head tilted back to smile at him. Julian runs a gloved thumb along my jaw, a queer expression on his face. I think he’s about to say something when the music picks back up, faster, this time, with an accordion thrown in for good measure. His expression breaks into a wide smile and a raucous laugh. 

“Oh, this makes me want to dance on the tables.”

I glance over my shoulder. Procurator Volta has cleared the buffet table down to the purple end, likely consuming more than her own weight in food. There’s more empty space than not, plenty of room to maneuver between the remnants. Appetite sated for at least a moment or two, she claps her tiny hands in time with the music, an expression of absolute glee on her face.

“Let’s dance on tables then.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

In time with the music, we work our way to the main table. Julian leaps up and lifts me easily; then we catch the rhythm again. The other guests begin to gather around the table, stomping in time with the rhythm. Volta cheers and smiles, and on her, the expression even looks genuine. I see Asra in the crowd - clapping his hands and laughing with delight - before Julian pulls me in a different direction. We halt with the music, pressed tight to each other and breathing hard. 

“Well, that was fun.” He runs his hand down my arm. 

The doors of the room slam open, and for a moment, I think we’re about to be scolded by the chamberlain, or worse - Nadia, or the worst - Portia, but it’s a group of the palace staff carrying instruments and offering them to guests. 

Julian takes a vielle from one of the servants and draws the bow across it experimentally, smiling as the instrument thrums in his hands. “You don’t mind, do you?” He bounds from the table to the floor, beginning a fast, complicated tune - clever hands, indeed. Asra extends a hand to me. I grab it and pull him to the table with me. He holds his skirt up with one hand and links arms with me, skipping around the scattered and empty dishes, with no particular pattern or aim to our steps, just allowing the music to carry us.

The rest of the room joins in, creating a rhythm with claps and stomps. The band recognizes the Ilya’s tune and accompanies him. 

Suddenly. the music goes off key. Jarring, discordant, off-key. Volta squeals and her hands fly to her mouth. I see the flash of red eyes and feel the oppressive weight of envy and hunger before I hear Lucio's sibilant hiss. “So damn hungry.”

The tablecloth jerks beneath my feet, and arm still linked with Asra’s, I tumble backward. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Julian toss the vielle aside and dive to the end of the table, catching me around the waist and flinging out his other arm to block Asra from falling directly into the floor. 

Asra rights himself as Julian sets me back on my feet. Across the room, Lucio's ghost claws at the destroyed table and howls in frustration before turning and dashing out a side door. Around us, the other guests have been stunned into silence. Asra lifts his skirt with one hand and tucks it into his sash. (Nadia's fashion taste may be excellent, but it doesn't account for hunting goats.) He takes my hand and Julian's wrist and drags us both toward the door. “Come on.”

The side door leads directly to the gardens outside. Lucio's ghost crashes through the hedges into the maze. After a second’s pause, I push aside the broken branches and climb through, holding them back for Julian and Asra. We’re too far away from the entrance to the maze, and I feel about for the impotent rage that marks Lucio’s passing.

“He went right.” I take off again, glad now that I did _not_ choose the high heels. A turned ankle would end this pursuit quickly. Left, right, straight ahead. I lose track of the turns we make, and with each one, Lucio’s presence feels further away. Finally, I halt, hands on my knees and breathing hard. Asra stops next to me and shakes his head at my inquiring glance. 

“I’ve lost him too.”

“Ugh.” I straighten up and take off my mask, fanning myself with it. The sounds of the masquerade are faint and distant, and without the sun, I’m without a sense of direction. “And, unless one of you were keeping up, I think we’re just as lost.”

“Don’t worry. These mazes are designed - intended - for people to find their way out of.” Julian buttons up his jacket and smooths the feathers on his costume. Then he reaches over and plucks a stray leaf from Asra’s hair. “The night’s still young and Lucio was never able to keep quiet for long. We’ll find him. But let’s just enjoy a stroll in the night air for a bit.”

Asra and I look at each other and then stare at Julian.

“What?” He twirls the leaf between his fingers.

“That’s practically optimistic.”

“Who are you, and where is Ilya?”

Julian tosses the leaf over his shoulder and offers us each an arm, grinning as he does. “Just turning over a new leaf.”

Asra and I both groan but take his arms. I pat his hand. “You’re a dork.”

Julian laughs and stops to kiss the top of my head. “I know. But you love it.”

Within a few turns, we’re back in familiar territory - the fountain and Asra’s willow tree. I put my mask back on and walk to the fountain, trailing my fingers in the water. Asra joins me, following my motions with his hand a knowing smile on his face. Julian sits down on the edge of the fountain and watches the two of us.

“Sometimes, you two seem like you have your own world.”

“In a way.” Asra trails his fingers across the back of my hand and then grabs Julian’s, bringing it to his lips. “But I think we can bring you.” 

I lean around Asra and flick water at Julian. He sputters, then laughs and begins to shrug out of his feathered coat. “Oh? Is that how this is going to be?”

Asra rolls his eyes and steps back, but I can see him start to unbutton his gloves. Like the feathers, they probably wouldn’t take well to getting soaked. I dig both hands under the surface of the water, preparing for a larger attack, when a low laugh bounces across the water. Lucio’s ghostly, goat-like figure stands on the other side of the fountain.

Asra’s upper lip curls into a sneer. “Had a hissy fit and crawled off to pout?”

“Oh, Asra, Asra - you're one to talk about pouting. I’ll have back what’s mine soon enough, thief.” 

Suddenly in front of me, he reaches out with his one arm. “Then I'll be able to taste. Able to touch.” He traces a single, unwelcome claw along my throat. The razor-sharp tip stings as it digs into my skin. “So warm. This should be mine.” He leans forward quicker than I can step back and drags an icy tongue over my neck, with a moan.

Julian pulls me back, shoving me into Asra's arms and stepping between us and the ghost. I start to run my sleeve over my face in disgust, but Asra takes my hand and heals the scratch, soothes away the disgusting sensation. Lucio's faint form shudders, and his back arches and cracks. The rough hair falls away, and he looks like the blond count again, albeit translucent and short a mechanical arm.

"Gods below the ground, you're a delicious morsel, little witch."

"Just leave her alone, Lucio."

"How can I when she has what should be mine?" The Count graces me with a half bow and a leer. "I'm sorry it has to be you or me, dove, but I can't let you stand between me and my glorious return."

"And the rest of the city?" Trading me for him might be an equal exchange on the macrocosmic scale; albeit, not one I personally like the idea of. But an entire city for a single man? No.

"What do you mean? The city adores me. They'll be delighted -"

“Adored you?” Asra scoffs. “The foolish enjoyed your circuses, the merchants tolerated you because you were easy to bribe and manipulate, no one adored you -”

“Don’t you realize -" Julian cuts Asra off. He holds out both hands in a pleading gesture. "Lucio, if you somehow bring yourself, the plague returns with you?" Julian sounds calm - too calm - like he's trying to reason with Lucio, and he's desperate to find some shred of decency left in the Count. "Do you not even care?”

“Oh, Jules, always going on about the plague, don’t be such a killjoy.”

“People will die. It’s wrong!”

“Wrong? You want to talk to me about wrong, Jules? What wouldn’t you do to cure the plague? In fact, what didn’t you do? Down in that little nest of Valdemar’s -”

"You forced me to eat a plague beetle!"

Lucio says nothing. He might even shrink a little, shoulders hunching, chin tilting down. "Well, it worked," he whines finally. "You found the cure you were looking for."

"Oh my fucking god!" Julian laughs. "You don't know, do you? Or maybe you do, and you can't even admit it to yourself. I don't know why I even -"

Asra jumps back into the conversation. “What do you want, Lucio?”

“Want?” He looks over at me and trails his tongue across his lips. “Oh, I'll get what I _really_ want soon enough. But what I want right now is simple. Come with me."

Lucio turns and begins to walk deeper into the maze. Why he would assume that we'll follow is a mystery to me. Asra clears his throat loudly, and he turns back with a huff, muttering "difficult" under his breath.

“What for?” Asra asks. “Why should we go with you?”

“I've a patron of my own, Magician. And he wishes to meet with you.”

“Like hell we're going anywhere with you, Montag.” Julian jerks a short knife from his boot. Eyes widening, I grab his arm. That won't do any good if he provokes the ghost enough to attack us. My fists might do as much. Though - my eyes dart around the fountain in hope that some irresponsible guest left their trash behind - a broken bottle wouldn't be too bad.

The count growls, and his eyes flash a brighter red. “You know I _hate_ that name, Jules.”

“Frankly, my dear -” Julian's voice remains dangerously low, but he drops his arm and puts the knife away. “I don't give a damn.”

“We're not going anywhere with you, Lucio.” Asra extends an arm between Julian and Lucio. “Tell your patron to send a better messenger next time.”

The count laughs, then shrugs as he begins to fade away. “Suit yourself, Asra. Suit yourself.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nazali is fun to write. Just sayin'.


	6. Hell's Broke Loose in Georgia, and the Devil Deals the Cards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Devil Went Down to Georgia" Charlie Daniel's Band.

When we return to the palace, the veranda is packed, and we can barely move through the crowds. My deck of cards vibrates in my hand, urging me to go left and right and to and fro and perhaps some other directions all at the same time. Asra pulls the three of us next to a pillar. Julian positions himself to block people from encroaching on the limited space. 

“Asra?”

“Yes, mine too. I don't like the only explanation I can think of.”

“And what's that?”

“That there are multiple people who could stand in for one of the Arcana.” He peers around Ilya as if he hopes to see something that will belie his conclusion. Thus the chaos in a crowd like this one. 

“Oh.” Finding and warning away twenty-two people - well, fewer if we didn't count the surrogates we knew of - had seemed daunting enough. An unknown, possibly infinite number... “This is impossible, Asra.”

“I know.” He tucks his cards away and rubs his hands together. “And there's Dr. Satrinava's question from earlier - why would Valdemar have let us, let me, proceed with an incomplete number three years ago?”

“Did the Devil seem surprised when not everyone was there?”

“He... Ugh.” Asra presses a hand to his forehead. “I still don't remember everything that happened that night. It's hard to think in this mass of people. Ilya?”

“What?” His attention snaps back to us from where it had wandered to the people on the veranda. “Um, sorry. No, I don’t remember either.”

Groups of party goers hang over the railing, watching a performance in the garden below. Svelte acrobats spin ropes of fire in controlled spirals around them. It's... dizzying to see. In multiple ways, not all of them at all pleasant. At least for me.

I let the crowd jostle me closer to Asra and busy myself picking off the bits of shrubbery that cling to his costume. Not tearing the fine silk requires enough concentration that there isn't too much mental space left to panic and the fire display. Only a little space for panicking. Julian cranes his neck over the crowd, still seeking out a familiar face. 

“I don’t see Dr. Satrinava. Or Valdemar.”

The spectators at the railing burst into applause. The acrobats must have completed a particularly impressive stunt to finish their routine. The crowd begins to thin, just a little, as people break away from the rail and meander elsewhere, seeking new sights. 

One group, all wearing dark hooded robes, turns toward us, strolling down the veranda. Lamplight reflects off the glassy red eyes of their beaked masks, burning as it passes over my face and through my eyes. My hands freeze, dropping from Asra’s shoulders as my arms fold tightly around my middle, the right protecting the left. Smoke curls behind them - it's just leftover from the fire dancers, right? - as one claps another on the shoulder in apparent mirth. Why is anyone laughing here?

“I think Nadia is the sister we need to find.” Asra’s voice sounds far away, like I’m hearing him through water. “Dema? Oh.”

Julian curses, “Sons of bitches!”

“Ilya, don't - oh fuck it.” Gentle fingers close around my upper arm, and I jerk away, pressing my eyes tightly shut against the ashes that I know are about to begin blowing through the air.

“Dema.” Asra’s voice. Closer now. Clearer now. “Look at me. Come on, sweetheart.”

I force my eyes open. Asra crouches in front of me, brows knitted together in concern over his eyes. “You’re safe. Just breath. We’re at the palace. The masquerade.” 

I lean against him and let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding in a choked sob. Arms fold around my back and lift me just a little off the floor as he stands up. “It’s going to be okay.” He sounds like he’s trying to convince both of us. Another hand touches the back of my head.

“They’re, um, moved along.” I look back over my shoulder - Julian, mask off and hair thrown forward over the right side of his face. “Are you okay? Nevermind, that’s a stupid question.”

“I’ll be alright. Just give me another minute or so.” I lean back against Julian’s chest and let him wrap his arms around me.

“Did they recognize you?” Asra fixes Julian’s mask back over his face and messes with his hair. “That wasn't very wise.”

“Nah, you can barely see out of those damn things anyway.”

“Ilya,” Asra groans and holds one of Julian's hands in both of his own, healing bruises on his knuckles.

“Worth it.”

“At some point, Dr. Devorak, your taste for showmanship is going to get you into trouble of which you can't get out.”

Valerius stands behind Asra. He's wearing a mask shaped like his ram's head brooch, and without his customary wine glass, his lacquered fingers beat against his palm. I spare a moment to be proud of him. I’d be drinking by now.

“I told the guards to leave you be. You're welcome.”

“Huh. Well, um, thanks.”

“What do you need, Consul?”

“Step away from this crowd with me for a few minutes. It looks like you could use the space, and I insist on some sort of an update to the state of affairs beyond -” He nods at Julian. “The obvious.”

* * *

Val has his own little nook set off from the veranda. The muted colors of the wall hangings and upholstery contrast with those in the rest of the palace. A small brazier glows in one corner, warming a kettle of water. He settles himself onto a low deep divan and measures green tea leaves into a delicate ceramic pot, before pouring water over them, and plucking a coal from the brazier to place on the top of a water pipe. I raise my eyebrows, and he smiles tightly at me, lips closed. “Just tobacco.” He leans back on a stack of cushions and removes his mask. His hair is pinned in place on the back of his head instead of hanging around his shoulders in a braid, and the extra makeup around his eyes almost obscures the dark circles underneath them. “So. Two witches and a dead man? Quite the group costume.” 

I settle on a cushion beside Val and take off my own mask. “More like one witch along with a dead man and a dead woman” 

Val doesn’t look as surprised as I thought he might. He just nods to be briefly and picks up the teapot, filling the four cups on the low table and gesturing for Julian and Asra to sit in the chairs opposite of us.

“First of all, Her Excellency has ordered that Lucio's wing be closed off until the end of the masquerade and guards posted at the known entrances. Whoever found you first was to inform you.”

“You know why then?”

Valerius nods and lifts the pipe handle, taking several deep draws to start the smoke through the device. “The less human members of this esteemed court are planning some nonsense to restore the Count amongst other possible naughty acts." He extends the pipe to me, almost smiling again when I take it from him.

“You don't seem to be taking this very seriously.” Asra waves his hand in front of his face.

“I assure you that I am, witch. I'm simply also trying to keep my nerves under control because someone must.” Val drinks his tea and looks annoyed, any libation will do for that it seemed.

“Whose side are you on, Valerius” Julian's voice isn't cruel or treating when he asks. He knows, perhaps better than either Asra or me, why the question is a complex one for the Consul.

Val sets down his tea and holds out his hand in my direction. I pass the handle to him and he takes a slow pull, holding the smoke in his lungs before exhaling steadily. “I'm on whichever side doesn't result in the death and further destruction of the city. And that would be Nadia's.”

“Even though -” Julian's voice is still compassionate, but Val snaps at him, nonetheless.

“Yes, even though that means my lover stays dead. Good Lord, do you need to rub salt in the wound!”

“I'm sorry, Valerius, I just -”

“Stuck your foot in your mouth. Yes. You do that.” Val draws his feet up on the sofa, closer to his chest, and puffs at the pipe. “I'm quite serious though. I do not desire to see the city fall back into the clutches of the Red Plague.”

“How many guards are being posted?” Asra asks.

“Two at each entrance, I believe.”

Asra crosses his arms over his chest. “That's not enough to stop someone determined. I need to talk to Nadia. We might have gathered more or less of our own free will last time, but some sort of compulsion could be part of the spell.”

“More than that will only attract attention, and you can't tell me that there aren't ways into that wing that none of us remember. Fools will go looking if they're curious, and we hardly want to encourage that, do we?”

“No.” Asra shakes his head. “No we don't.” He uncrosses his arms and picks up the cup of tea in front of him with a distinct frown. 

“Have you any more of a plan than you did before?” He passes the pipe back to me. “Simply warning people based on your cards seems a bit underwhelming."

He’s right. If, as Asra mentioned, there’s any kind of compulsion attached to the ritual merely warning people away won’t be enough. And that doesn’t factor in that multiple people could be brought in as surrogates for the Arcana. “We spoke to Lucio.”

Val's eyes widen, then narrow again. “Yes. And did he have something useful to say?”

“He claims he has some kind of patron now, one who wanted to meet with the three of us. Tried to get us to go with him to meet them.”

“And you didn't go?”

“Why should we trust him?”

“You shouldn't. But you do need information. He or his patron might have it.”

“Has he tried to contact you?”

“No, not again.”

“Again?” Asra’s fingers tighten around the cup.

“As I told Dema, the exchange was nothing that would help you. No hows. No whys. Not that I would have understood the mechanics.”

“Do you think he could have been referring to Valdemar?” Julian asks as he takes the pipe from my hand. “I mean. As a patron.”

Valerius scoffs. “The Quaestor would hardly be considered a _new_ patron.”

“How long have they been around?” Julian asks the question for the absent Nazali.

“Since the beginning. Well, the beginning of his conquest of Vesuvia at any rate. I hoped that he'd paid them off - they were gone for years - but no, they're like a bad penny.”

“The others?”

“Vulgora came with him. Convinced him of that damned idea to reopen the Coliseum to gladiatorial fights. It had been two generations since those were a living part of the city's culture. Vlastomil and Volta were already in the city. Minor functionaries before he elevated them. But not native to the city. I don't know where they came from.”

“Versus you?”

“The son of the prior Consul?” Valerius smiles bitterly. “No. I was always here. Scheming over a glass of red.” He sets aside his teacup. “But that's a story for another time, if indeed it is a story that I care to tell at all.”

“How much do you remember from three years ago, Consul?”

“The ritual? Precious little.”

“But did you know anything about it? How people were selected? What Valdemar might have wanted?”

As Asra speaks, Val clutches the fabric of his robe and clenches his jaw. “I know Lucio was desperate enough to think that you - _of all people_ \- might be willing to help him.” He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. His head tilts back, and he closes his eyes tightly. “That you had some sort of spell, and Lu needed me involved, and I was desperate enough to play along. Other than that the only thing I remember is that God damned fire.” 

I reach out and touch the back of Val's trembling hand. There are tears starting in his eyes. Julian leans forward, looking concerned, even though I know he doesn't especially care for Val. Asra keeps asking questions.

“So Valdemar never spoke to you about it? Or Lucio? Certainly you spent more time -”

“I avoided Valdemar as much as I could.” Valerius' eyes snap back open. “And you know how bad Lucio was! You could - hell, you did - tell him whatever he wanted to hear, and he would have believed it.”

“Asra.” Julian's voice is quiet. “He doesn't know.”

“I'm... I'm sorry. I'm just trying to stop whatever it is they have planned.”

“Well, I certainly can't tell you how to do it, witch, or I'd damn well do it myself.” He takes the pipe handle back from me and draws deeply on it. His hands are still shaking and he'll be all the more upset if he realizes that we've noticed. Or even that I've noticed. We should leave.

I stand and straighten my skirt. “Thanks, Val. We'll keep looking. See what we can find.” I hold out a hand to Julian, then Asra, helping pull them from the deep seats.

Val waves his hand dismissively. “Find the Countess if you come up with anything. I'll be doing my best to not get roped back into any further nonsense.”

* * *

The veranda is significantly less crowded when we return. Without a show taking place below, it's occupants are small clusters of friends and lovers chatting over drinks and enjoying the relative quiet. I lean against the rail, looking at Julian and Asra both. It’s the closest I can get to their simple contentment. “Where should we start?”

"Do we -” Julian looks from side to side. “I mean, do we really want to find this patron of Lucio's?"

“I'm afraid Valerius is right. It's risky, I know, but we need to know what - and who we're dealing with.”

Asra groans. “And I'm afraid you're right, much as I hate to admit it. So back to the original question: where do we start?”

“Well, Lucio's ghost was headed deeper into the hedge maze, so I would assume -” Julian starts for the stairs leading back down into the garden. “That we pick a random path in the maze and follow it until we hear a bleating goat.”

A goat? With how quick Lucio has been to use my blood to appear human, it's been too easy to forget that Lucio's current form is a goat. “I have a idea. Might not be any better than a random path.”

Julian pauses and turns back around, eyebrows raised. “Go ahead?”

I pull out my cards and shuttle through them until I find The Devil. I sigh a little as I study the card in the light of the full moon overhead. It's the one that started this all, at least in some ways. Two weeks ago, I sorted it out as the signifier for an ambition reading at the new moon in Capricorn. “I suspect this is Lucio's new patron.”

Beside me, Asra makes an unhappy noise. “You're probably right. The Magician implied it after all.”

“The Devil?” Julian takes the card from my hands and peers at it closely. “That does make sense, if they both have an interest in redoing this ritual thing.”

“So we head into the maze, but let the card guide us.

Asra squeezes my hand. “Okay, but let's do it before I find a reason not to.” 

The card doesn’t protest as we head into the gardens, so perhaps we’re starting in the right direction. Around us, the night air has grown cold, or maybe it only seems colder as we leave the illusion of warmth and safety cast by the palace's lamps. I tuck my arms to my torso, not quite shivering. Julian drapes his feathered jacket around me. The hemline falls well past my knees. “Can’t have you cold.” He squeezes my shoulders, and the feeling of him smiling down at me warms me more than the coat itself.

Something rustles in the shrubs that form the maze, followed by a soft curse. Muriel tumbles from between two bushes followed by Inanna who appears very large, very dark, and very on guard. Asra's face breaks into a smile, and he walks forward, arms open in greeting. “Muriel? What are you doing here?”

Julian leans down and whispers in my ear. “Who’s this guy?”

“Old friend of Asra’s. There’s a spell on him. I’ll explain later.”

If possible, Muriel’s expression is more melancholic than the other times I’ve interacted with him. His massive shoulders hunch forward, and his hands hang limp at his side. “Asra, I -”

“What's wrong Muri? What happened?”

“It’s Faust.”

“What about Faust?"

“She left my hut, and I can't find her, Asra.” The large man seems genuinely distressed. "It's my fault, she slipped past the door when I wasn't watching."

“Muri, it's not your fault.” Asra pats his arm. "You know she does what she wants, besides I should be able to sense where she is.” Asra’s gaze twitches up and to the right as he casts about mentally for Faust. Then he cries out and falls to his knees. Two ropes of fires circle around his arms then disappear leaving the sleeves of his costume untouched. 

“Asra!” I kneel down next him, and almost embrace him before I notice the angry red burns on his arms beneath the sheer fabric. Instead I touch my hand to his chest and press my forehead to his waiting for his heartbeat to calm a little. When I look up, Julian and Muriel are standing to opposite sides of us glaring at each other. Julian's got that damn knife out of his boot again, and Muriel, well Muriel looks ready to shrug off any attack, take Asra and run. 

“You two posturing won’t help a damn thing. Muriel, what happened?” I take off Julian’s jacket and wrap it around Asra’s shoulders. 

He sighs and crouches down besides Asra and me. “I’m sorry.”

“Muriel . . .”

“When Faust went out into the woods. I didn’t follow quickly enough. And someone, something took her, or so Inanna thinks. I should have kept a closer eye on her, I know.”

Asra holds his hand in his lap, palms raised. He looks dazed. “Muriel, you’re here now, in the place you least want to be. You're doing what you can - more than you have to.”

“Inanna picked up a trail. It led here.”

“That's what we need to follow then. Oh my God, Julian, put away that knife.” I don’t like being the voice of reason. It is a role I have definitely not rehearsed enough. “We can trust Muriel, I promise.” 

Julian doesn't quite look convinced, but he cooperates. I help Asra to his feet and wrap my arm around his waist. He drapes one arm around my shoulder, hissing as he does but still leaning on me. Moving slowly with Julian following close behind us, we follow Inanna back into the hedge maze. Asra gets steadier on his feet as we go, but keeps me and Julian’s jacket pulled close around him. Inanna stops at an intersection and sniffs the air in all directions before looking back at Muriel and whining.

“She says the trail goes two ways.”

“Do we split up?”

“Wait! I'd forgotten about my idea of using the cards in the upset over Faust. What if Lucio or this patron took Faust?” I hold the Devil card in the palm of my hand, hoping to feel a faint tug to the right or the left.

“Yes.” Asra gets his own cards out and finds the Devil within the deck. He waits a moment, then looks at me and frowns. “Are you -”

“Back and forth. Goddammit.”

“We split up then. We'll find Faust faster that way.”

Muriel and I exchange a skeptical look. It’s getting closer to midnight, and while Muriel may not give a fig about Julian or me, he’ll protect Asra. I’d rather have more magic users rather than less when we meet Lucio’s patron, especially if Asra’s abilities are impacted by missing Faust. 

“Asra, you realize this is a trap.” Muriel’s voice is soft.

“It could just be that both parts lead to the same place,” I protest. “we don't have to split -”

“It doesn't matter. I've got to find her.”

Finally, Muriel nods at Asra and gives me a look that I can best interpret as a warning to run for my life if I let anything hurt Asra. He and Inanna turn away to the left.

“You two don't have to come with me. I'd understand if -”

“Don't be foolish, Asra.” Julian readjusts the jacket around Asra's shoulders. 

“Yes, leave the foolishness to Julian and me. You'd do the same for us. And Faust is my friend.” I conjure a glowing orb to light the path in front of us. It's twisting and narrow, forcing us to walk single file, and I am once again grateful that I did not choose the high heels. 

“Faust loved those lights when she was a baby; she'd always try to squeeze them.”

“How’d that work out for her?” Even without looking back, I know that Julian has a hand on Asra’s shoulder in an attempt to comfort him.

“She tied herself in a few knots.” 

I stop and turn back to brush a tear off Asra’s cheek. He's starting to breathe faster than normal, and I can feel my own heart sympathize with his, picking up its pace in my chest. “We're going to find her.” 

He nods but doesn't look convinced. I squeeze his fingers in mine before turning back around to keep moving forward.

“Asra, tell me more about what Faust was like when she was little. Before she got big enough to try to hug me to death.” Julian keeps Asra talking as we continue along the path and shortly has him laughing from remembering Faust's antics. I smile to myself and concentrate on guiding us. As we've continued, the pathway has grown narrower and overgrown. Finally we come to another split. I hold up my light, casting it as far as I can down each of the options. Both appear the same.

“What now? We're not splitting up again.”

“I could try again to sense where Faust is, maybe -”

“No.” Julian and I dismiss Asra's offer in unison. I continue, “You won't help Faust by getting hurt yourself.”

A raven swoops down and lands on Julian's shoulder, tugging at his hair. “Ow. What is it, Malak?” Malak flutters his wings, still holding a lock of Julian's hair in his beak. 

“I think he wants us to follow him.” I look over at Asra, who nods, a somewhat lost expression on his face. 

“It's better than standing here.”

Malak lets go of Julian's hair when it becomes clear that we're following him down the left fork. Unpruned branches overhang the pathway. I pass under most easily enough, but Asra and Julian are constantly ducking down. This is wilder than any part of the palace grounds I've explored before. I'm not even sure that we're on the grounds anymore.

The path behind to open up at the same time the hairs on the back of my neck begin to stand on end. Asra grabs my hand. “Dema, do you feel that?”

“Er, even I feel that.” Julian's voice is low. “Do we keep going, or . . . ?”

“We've come this far.” I ignore Asra’s restraining hand on my arm and push a final branch out of the way stumbling into a clearing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why, hello there, mortals.


	7. If You Meet Me, Have Some Courtesy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don't already recognize where I pulled the chapter title from: The Rolling Stones, 'Sympathy for the Devil'

The Devil is waiting for us.

Now I understand the Magician’s amusement when I claimed that Asra and I had seen the Devil. The idea of a goat standing upright on hooves that should be too small to balance on is where the commonalities between Lucio’s current form and the figure of the Devil begin and end. The figure in the clearing is dignified - elegant, even - draped in a scarf and a perversion of a priest’s stole, and he smells of earthy cloying incense and the charcoal beneath it. Lucio smells of petty, weak malice. The Devil is sheer menace - the threat itself, not some braggart’s boast. 

Worse - Valdemar stands beside him, their fingers still locked in that rigid, unnatural steepling. Their ribcage rises and falls a single time, as if from a sigh when they see that all three of us are present, and their eyelids close in an approximation of serenity.

“ _ Thaumaturge _ , welcome.” The Devil raises his hand. Faust writhes in his claws, struggling to free herself. 

“Faust!”

Julian grabs Asra before he manages to run at Valdemar or the Devil. I kneel hoping for a stone or some other weapon-like item. Not that I’m likely to fare any better with a proper implement of destruction.  _ Magic. _ Unexpected magic that I had not called jolts through me, and my fingers close around some smooth and hard. When I stand, I’m holding a staff of polished, hardened wood that, as best I can understand, has conjured into my hand. I take a deep breath before speaking. My voice doesn’t quake when I address the Devil, and that is nearly as surprising as the weapon in my hand. 

“Put her down.”

The Devil turns his gaze to me. “And who are you to tell me what to do? Ah, yes, my brothers said you were a rude little thing, Dema. Discourtesy will get you nowhere with me, child.”

He steps closer to us. Power pulses through my fingers, and the tip of the staff glints in the moonlight where an edge has formed; although, what good it will do against any of the three here is something I haven't yet decided. The Devil laughs as I grip the weapon in both hands, lifting it into the air. 

“Brave but foolish. That’s the other thing I heard about you.”

“Tsk. Tsk.” Valdemar is suddenly in front of me well inside the reach of the staff; though, I would have sworn that they never took a step. They shake their head slowly from side to side, the black veil fluttering. “Really now, Zero-six-nine, out of the three of you, it's this tiny thing who's front and center.”

“Why you -” Julian growls, taking their bait. I seize his wrist before he can move past me. There's nothing that I can imagine Julian having in his arsenal the take on two arcane creatures. I don't want him to antagonize Valdemar, especially not with Asra sidelined by the Devil's hold on Faust. Besides, between Valdemar and the Devil, I know which one I'd rather deal with. I stare into the slitted pupils of the Devil’s eyes, still holding the staff in front of me.

“What will get me somewhere?”

“Listen to my offer. No harm will come to you or yours while I am here.”

“Dema, no.” Asra and Julian's protests are essentially simultaneous. Julian's hand grasps my shoulder. Asra’s voice strains, quavers in the air fighting against the tightness in his chest - the tension that I share. Above us, Malak flies in circles, shrieking at the top of his lungs.

“He can't lie, Dema, but -”

I cut Asra’s warning off and let the staff fall from my fingers. The Major Arcana may not tell lies, but between the Magician’s games and the Hanged Man's demands, I already don't trust any of them. But while I’m a fool, I know the staff in my hand will do no good, and I have to get Faust back safely. “I'm listening.”

“That's right. I'm sure you can be reasonable. I must apologize for my absent subordinate. I've put him in time out, so to speak. He was simply to deliver my invitation to you. And then, he took it on himself to kidnap poor Faust. Happily, she hasn’t been harmed in the least.” The Devil strokes her head with a single claw; she shivers and twists away from him.

“Then give her back to us.”

“In good time. But I possess her right now, and I do have a reputation to maintain. There’s also the matter of that nasty plague. I hear you may be interested in keeping it from returning? I’m sure we can work out some mutually agreeable terms.”

“Didn't you already agree to a bargain to end the plague?” That was part of Julian's deal with him, wasn't it? That's what he told me.

“Technically, the agreement was that I would take darling Ilya's memories of you in exchange for returning your soul to this realm and ending the plague. I did end the plague.” He reaches out, and even though I should have been standing too far for him to touch me, he does, claws - not frigid like Lucio’s but scorching hot - pricking my cheek. “I never said the plague wouldn't return. And your lover seems to have somehow recovered his memories of you.”

Valdemar's teeth glint through their veil. They're smiling. “One could even consider that bargain entirely void.”

The Devil nods thoughtfully, and Julian's hand shakes on my shoulder. I take a half step backward, closer to him, and reach across my chest to touch my fingers to his. It doesn't seem that the Devil has reneged on his deal unless I simply haven't noticed that I have no soul as of this morning. Part of me wants to laugh. With everything that has happened today, a little detail like that could well have escaped my attention.

“Stopping the plague is a trivial thing. If I say it won’t return, it will not. At least, so long as your end of the bargain is maintained.” He strokes his beard. “Since it's a small request, I suppose I should only ask for something small in return. How about -” He points a claw directly at me. “- you, dear Dema?” 

Asra pushes past, flinging an arm in front of me. “No, if you're going to -”

“I've already made my deal with you.” The Devil flicks his wrist dismissively at Asra. “This offer is for Dema alone. Step, for one night, in the space between realms, and I promise that the plague will never trouble this realm again - just one night. I will not harm you. You'll be free to go at sunrise.”

“ _ Solnishka _ , don't.” Julian's voice is a low whisper in my ear. His hand trails down my back. “Think. Think about what he's  _ not _ saying.”

The Devil smiles at me. “Yes, think. But, as a gesture of goodwill -” He drops Faust into the grass at his feet. 

Asra cries out, then kneels to scoop her up as she glides back to him. He stands, letting her coil around his neck. “You can't lie, but you don't have to tell the whole truth. Dema -”

“Must you offer at all.” Valdemar turns their steepled hands upside down. “I'll be quite put out if I don't get to enjoy another plague, especially now that the poppet’s protection is gone.” They don't move, but I can feel their gaze fix on me through their veil. “I haven't had the pleasure of dissecting someone who's died from it twice.” They lean forward, the slightest shift in their balance communicating more malevolence than I thought the world could possibly contain.

Julian shoves between the two of us before I can stop him. “Over my dead body.”

“I didn't think you'd be so good as to volunteer. Why don't I start work on that presently?”

“Now, now.” The Devil extends a hand toward Valdemar. “I am a being of my word. No harm will come to them - while I am here.” His gaze returns to me. “You've heard my terms, Dema. A night between realms - a trivial price really - and you get to stop the plague from returning. Prevent all that death, all that suffering. Keep those awful furnaces from firing again, sending smoke into the sky and consuming -” As he speaks, the sky behind him turns red. It’s just more fireworks being set off at the palace. Right? No. “No, you wouldn't let that happen. Not when you can stop it.”

I feel my skin grow warm then burn with fever, while a tiny, rational piece of my mind screams that the night is dark and cool. I shut my eyes, but it does no good. The only thing I can see is dancing shades of red, and long-beaked figures moving through them.  _ No _ . Even if I leave this time, escape to some sort of vagabond pirate’s life, I can't let that become someone else's story. “I . . . I accept.”

“Dema, don't! You don't know what he's planning.” Asra's voice is desperate. 

The Devil's mouth curls into a smile, revealing sharp canines that no goat should have. “I knew you'd see reason. Pleasure doing business with you.” He extends a hand to me and curls a claw in a beckoning gesture. A sudden blinding stab of pain - so much worse than the one this morning - hooks in my sternum and jerks, dragging me forward with a cry. 

Julian grabs my arm and cries out in pain and surprise. The colors of the garden, muted as they already were by the moonlight, fade to shades gray around us. Julian's body slumps lifeless to the ground, followed by mine. Asra cries something unintelligible and kneels beside the two still firms. Hovering next to him, in whatever form I’m in now, I try to touch his shoulder, but my hand passes through him. The Devil chuckles and disappears with a snap of his fingers.

“What the hell?” Julian is next to me, caught in whatever place this is as well. Valdemar backs away briefly, but freed from the Devil’s restraint, they seize a heavy branch from the ground and creep eagerly toward Asra, who is shaking the shoulders of our unconscious bodies. “Hey, get away from me. Get away from him!” Julian swings a fist at Valdemar, but his fist passes through them. He stumbles back, confused. “What? Dema, what’s going on?”

I’m crouched next to Asra, trying desperately to think of a way to reach him before Valdemar. “Asra, dammit, listen to me. Asra!”

Malak dives down with a scream, flapping his wings furiously and clawing at Valdemar’s face. Asra turns, magic flaring in his hands a moment too late. Valdemar lands a sharp blow to the side of his head, and he crumples beside our bodies. I clutch my hands over my mouth, stifling a scream that wouldn’t be heard anyway. Julian makes another attempt to physically stop Valdemar, roaring in frustration as his arms pass through them. They spin, trying to hit Malak as well, but the raven darts upward before the branch can make contact. 

Valdemar titters and claps their hands together, looking around at the empty air and then slowly settling their eyes roughly where Julian and I stand. “Ah, witch, if you can hear me, and I do think you can, please note that your invitation to tonight's little ritual has hardly been rescinded. You might find it interesting to see who you do and don't recognize once you arrive.” With another laugh, they grab Julian’s body by the feet and drag it off into the shrubbery. Malak tails them, shrieking one last time before he’s gone as well.

Ritual? They still intend to hold that, so the plague was secondary to that? And Lucio, if there's no plague, can he return? Or does whatever deal I just made decouple the plague's existence from his existence? And does it matter anyway? Clearly the plague is not important in and of itself. What does the Devil want to accomplish?

My one consolation is that Asra is still out cold as my body dissolves into silvery smoke that rises into the air and floats toward the palace. Crushed grass marks the sickening space left behind. Still kneeling next to Asra, I push ineffectively at his hair, then tear off my mask and weave my fingers through my braids, pulling on them in frustration. “Fuck!”

Faust pokes her head out of Asra’s sash and nudges at the space where I’m sitting. Her head passes through my hand, but she sticks out her tongue, exploring the area.  _ “Friend?” _

“Faust? Faust, can you hear me?”

She turns her head about, looking at the now empty square of garden, then turns back, fixing me with her beady red gaze.  _ “Fuck.” _ It's a very appropriate response, to be honest.

“You can hear me!” My mind races to think of someone who can help. Nadia? No, not really. Muriel. “Faust, listen, Muriel. You need to get Muriel.”

_ “Big friend?” _

“Yes, big friend.”

Faust tongues at Asra’s face, clearly uneasy about leaving him. “Faust, I can’t help Asra. Julian can’t either, but Muriel can. Get Muriel.” With a final look at Asra, Faust slithers away. I feel hands on my shoulders and lean back against Julian, who has moved to sit behind me. I’m grateful I can at least touch him.

“Faust is smart. She'll get help.” He says simply. “But you're going to have to help me understand what's happening.”

“We... We're caught between worlds. It's like a gate, like going to the Hanged Man's realm, or when Asra and I visited the Magician. At least, I think.” With a groan, I lean forward, covering my face with my hands. “I don't really know. I don't know what I just agreed to.”

“Well, damn. I knew I should have jumped in and challenged him to a fiddling match or something.”

“I fucked up. I'm sorry.”

“I suspect the creepy goat guy who isn't Lucio was cheating anyway.”

Beside us, Asra moans as he starts to come back to, and I lean forward, trying again - and just as vainly - to touch him. He rubs his head, then looks around him, eyes widening at the empty ground and beginning to panic. I clutch my fist to my mouth, teeth pressing against my knuckles until Julian pulls my hand down, twining his fingers around mine.

Inanna bursts through the shrubs and lopes to Asra, nudging him with her nose and whining. Absently, he wraps his arms around her neck and buries his face in her fur. “I can't take much more, girl.” Keeping vigil over Ilya, reliving the Lazaret, losing Faust, and now this. Of course, he can't take much more.

Even knowing it's useless, I stretch out my hand again. Inanna turns her head, sniffing where my fingers should be and growls. Smart girl. I deserve it.

Muriel follows shortly with Faust wrapped around his massive shoulders. He goes to Asra and kneels beside him, taking his shoulders and turning him this way and that to check for injuries.

“What happened?”

“We met the Devil. Dema agreed to some sort of deal. She and Julian -” He stops and pinches the bridge of his nose, catching his breath. “She and Julian were pulled between realms. Valdemar hit me in the head and when I came to... I thought Lucio was going to try to recreate the ritual that went wrong before, but this, this is something much bigger.” He extends his arm, letting Faust crawl along it to his shoulders, where she curls up protectively. “I, I don't know what to do.”

“We should get out of here.” Muriel pulls Asra to his feet. As he does, Asra’s tarot deck falls from his pocket and to the ground. Unlike the rest of the hazy, monochromatic nightmare, the cards retain their colors. I wonder if I can interact with them. 

“What? No.” Asra kneels back down in the grass to gather the cards.

“Just to regroup.”

I lean forward, reaching for the cards. My hand meets one, and instead of passing through it, nudges the card forward. I clap my hands together in victory and quickly fan out the cards in front of me with a practiced gesture. Asra straightens up and looks around. “Dema?”

Faust lifts her head from his shoulder.  _ “Friend here.” _

“And Julian?” There’s a hopeful note in Asra’s voice.

_ “Tall friend. Can’t squeeze.” _

While Faust and Asra converse, I find the card I want and separate it from the rest. The High Priestess - Nadia’s card. I don’t know what she can do, but at this point, she and, perhaps, her sisters are our best resource. Maybe our only resource.

“I don't understand.”

“Ugh... Faust? Tell Asra that I'm here. That he needs to get to Nadia. That Valdemar is still planning for the ritual to occur. That they took Julian's body, and mine is just... gone.” She bobs her head up and down, then leans close to Asra's ear. Unnecessary, I know, but perhaps she wants to make it clear to me that she understood what to do. Inanna paces unhappy circles around the space that Julian and I both do and do not occupy, and Muriel just looks overwhelmed.

Asra looks up and past us. “I understand, but I have to get you and Ilya back first.”

Julian laughs awkwardly beside me. “I mean, I'd like that too, but I don't know which is the cart and which is the horse.”

“We've still got to stop that ritual.” I close my eyes, or whatever equivalent is in this space, and think. There has to be something. Some piece of information or a clue we've overlooked. “Wait. Faust. The book, that damned spellbook. Does Asra still have it?”

She repeats the same gestures as before. Asra shakes his head. “The one that Valdemar gave me. No. I have no idea where it is.”

“What about the first then? It should still be in my bag. Maybe there's something about how to stop or undo the ritual in there.”

Asra's eyes go wide as Faust whispers in his ear. “Dema, I don't know if I want to undo the ritual, what if that rebounds and undoes...?”

Julian's arm tightens around me. “I don't know what Valdemar and the Devil want, but it can't be an acceptable alternative. At least look!”

I'm not sure if Faust conveys the extent of my irritation, but Asra nods reluctantly. “Okay, I will. But it's not safe for souls to linger between realms, there are - well, you and Ilya need to be somewhere safer. The Magician will protect you. At least until I can get to you. Come, we can use the fountain as a sort of portal.”

Muriel and Inanna have a shorter, easier path back to the gardens. He’s entirely silent. Asra and Julian both talk, mostly to themselves or maybe at each other; I’m too lost in my own thoughts to sort out their monologues.

When we reach the fountain, Muriel hangs back in the shadows. Inanna remains with him. Malak found us again and is currently perched at the top of the fountain, contributing the occasional distressed quork to the general atmosphere of disease. 

Asra sits on the edge of the fountain and leans over, head between his knees as he tries to catch his breath. “I don't like this. You two going without me.” He lifts his head and bites his lip. “Being left here alone.” His costume is entirely disheveled, but at least, Faust is back where she should be, curled around Asra’s shoulders and rubbing her head against his cheek. That’s a small something. But it is something.

I try again to touch my fingers to Asra’s. He shivers as they pass through. Close enough, I suppose; although, it’s hardly the reassurance I meant to give him. Or maybe I wanted to reassure myself. “Faust, tell him he could just come with us.” I've only done this once before, at least, only once that I can remember, and Asra was with me the entire time. Where I'm more anxious than I was before, the wall back into the gardens proper appears to have calmed him, somewhat.

She obliges me with a bob of her head and licks the side of his face. _ “Go with?” _

Asra glances around as if hoping to see us, and then his gaze returns to the tremoring water of the fountain. “I want to. I will. As soon as I have an idea of what has happened here.” 

Malak beats his wings and flutters down to the edge of the fountain, landing next to Asra and snapping at his skirt. “Really, really, Malak?" Julian chides. “That's kind of rude.” The raven looks directly at Julian and caws softly.

“He heard you!” My mouth falls open. So far, only Faust has been able to communicate across what separates us from our realm. 

“Well, of course, I mean - oh.” Julian looks flabbergasted.

“I think you might have a familiar. Can you hear him? Did he see where Valdemar took your body?”

“Malak?” 

The raven responds with another series of soft caws. Julian nods at him, blood draining from his face as if the state we're now reduced to remember and try to recreate the responses of a physical body.

“The labs. Does Asra know, um, how to get there?”

“Muriel does. He’s the one who got you out three years ago. And Portia.” I relay the information back to Asra via Faust and hope that most of the message gets to him. 

Asra's mouth curves into the not-quite smile he forces when he's trying to disguise his anxiety. “Right. Find Portia. Rescue Ilya.”

“I don't like the idea of Portia being roped into a confrontation with Valdemar.”

“Portia is a force of nature in a tiny body. And she won't be alone.”

“It's not safe for the two of you to linger.” Asra reaches down and stirs the water in the fountain. “I know you two will keep each other safe. I'll see you soon.” As the water ripples, it changes to a night sky, bright with unfamiliar galaxies. “Dema, try to find the Magician. The spaces between realms are dangerous. Be careful, my loves.”

“We'll be careful.” I giggle as I say the words, not only because Asra can only hear me if Faust chooses to repeat the words, but because - what does careful even mean in a situation like this? I take both of Julian’s hands in mine and step up onto the edge of the fountain. “Don’t let go.”

Julian’s neck bobs as he swallows hard. “I don't intend to.”

With a final glance back at Asra and whatever passes for a deep breath when caught without a physical body, I let myself fall into the fountain, pulling Julian with me.


	8. You Bit Into the Apple, Lay Down Your Sword and Shield

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Incubus, 'Absolution Calling'

When I snap my eyes open, I’m laying on my back, looking up at a starry sky that turns slowly above us, the distances between the stars and between the stars and us, shifting with each moment. Some draw tantalizing close, inviting me to reach out and touch then, before drifting back.  _ Teases. _ Why are so many things and beings in these magical realms such teases? But, it’s quiet here. Silent. Peaceful even without any of the chaos of trying to reconstruct the past or prevent some future calamity. Just peace. And stars. I like those. If I lay here long enough maybe I can just dissolve into them and be done with all this. 

Julian’s hands are still twined in mine, he’s sprawled half on top of me, face buried in my neck, hands clinging to mine. I work one hand free of his grip and run my fingers through his hair. “We’re . . . somewhere.”

Julian lifts his head off my chest and looks around. “Somewhere looks a lot like nowhere.” He lays his head back down against me and shivers. “I don’t like this.”

“We’re still between realms. At least, I think we are. So yes, I guess that it’s nowhere.” I close my eyes, unable to afford the continued distraction of the stars and the continued temptation to try to touch one. It would be so much easier to just lay here and let whatever happens happen. “I’ve got to somehow get us to  _ somewhere _ .”  _ How _ I’m supposed to do that remains beyond me.

A musical trill to the right catches my attention. A little black cat sits next to me, tail curled neatly around her front paws. Was she there a moment ago?

“Hey there.” Julian sits up and stretches out his hand for the cat to sniff. “Where’d you come from?” She rubs her cheeks against his hand fingers, then allows him to scratch the top of her head. He sits up slowly, so that he won’t startle her, one hand still held out. “Aren’t you a pretty girl?” The cat licks a paw, washes her face, and then hops into Julian’s lap.

“Umm, Julian, I don’t know -” 

The cat kneads his thigh, then turns in a circle and settles down in a little loaf. “She certainly seems friendly to me.” He strokes her back until she purrs.

The cat turns her luminous amber eyes to me. Her outer eyelids close slowly, open just as gradually, then close again. I hold my hand out to her, palm up. She licks my fingers suddenly, I agree with Julian. I couldn’t explain why or how, but I agree. It’s a curious thing for there to be a black cat with us in the middle of nowhere, but she’s devoid of any ill intent.

With her mission of gaining our trust accomplished, the cat trills and hops out of Julian’s lap. She prances along for several feet, then stops, turns her head back to us, and trills again.

“I think she wants us to follow her.” 

“I can’t think of anything else to try.” Julian carefully gets to his feet, reaches down, and takes my hand. “Careful now. Whatever this is, it’s slippery.”

The surface below appears to be a narrow bridge of glass, cutting through the starry sky. The cat runs circle eights around our feet, herding us forward until she's convinced that we've understood and we're following her. I hang onto Julian's arm. The bridge is narrow and slick, and the slippers I'm in have no traction. 

Julian stops and peers over the edge. “Dema, look at this.”

Even as the thought occurs to me that we're both too curious for our own good, I lean over his shoulder and look down. Below is nothing. Except within nothing, there is something. Undulating shapes resolve and dissolve within the void. My stomach twists with nausea, but I can't tear my eyes away. There's some sort of rhythm - a pattern - to their movement that borders on soothing - hypnotic and familiar. And as with the stars, if I just reach out my hand, I could -

Sharp teeth close around the back of my neck biting just firmly enough to pull without drawing blood, and I'm hauled away from the edge. I gasp as I realize just how close Julian and I were to tumbling into whatever lies beneath us. The black cat - now huge - hovers above me and gives me a profoundly disappointed look before scraping her tongue across my forehead and hair.

"Okay, okay. I get it. No touching the things in the void."

She answers me with a little chirp, swishes her tail, and continues in the same direction as before, size shrinking back to proportions of a mundane housecat as she goes.

Julian brushes his hands against his pants before offering me his arm again. “Umm, so I take it we should just go forward.”

“She seems to know the way. Or a way.” Off to the other side of the path lightning forks through the sky. I press close to Ilya, expecting a roll of thunder that doesn't come. “I don't understand this place.”

“If you don't understand it -”

“Then you better put your clever side on notice, because I need some help.”

He's quiet for a moment then squeezes my fingers. “Fair enough. What do we know so far? Don't slip off the slippery glass bridge.”

“We're possibly being led by one of the Arcana. I don't recognize her from any of Asra's cards, but there's no reason why their appearances would have to correspond to his deck.”

“The cat? She seems so friendly - and undemanding.”

“And not into collecting eyes, answering questions with questions, or tempting fools into bad bargains? Let's hope she stays that way.”

Behind us, lightning cuts through the sky again, slamming into the bridge. Thunder follows it, reverberating through the darkness as the bridge begins to crumble. Ahead of us, the cat hisses, arches her back, and puffs out her fur. Tail low, she loops behind us, encouraging us to move forward, quickly,  _ run. _

We do. But not fast enough to stay ahead of the cracks shooting through the glass bridge.

* * *

The space between realms is like a dream, I remind myself. I'm falling through a void again, clinging desperately to Julian. You don't have to breathe in a dream. Something warm and moist curls around one of my legs. I kick violently, and it slides away, with the paradoxical logic of dreams, tenderly caressing my bare calf. When you're falling in a dream how do you stop? That’s right. Open your eyes.

I snap my eyes open and space stills around me. I'm on a stone landing, tangled in a heap with Julian yet again. His eyes are still tightly closed, and his hands are locked painfully tight around my upper arms. “Ilya, open your eyes. It'll stop. Just open them.”

He gasps, and his eyes snap open. “Dema, you - we're.” His hands tighten on my arms; I wince and he lets go with a jerk. “Oh no, did I hurt you? I hurt you. I'm so -”

I touch a finger to his lips. “I’m okay. You’re okay. We’re both okay.”

He sits up and runs a hand tentatively along my jaw, brushing his thumb across my bottom lip. “You’re sure that you’re alright?” I nod and lean against his shoulder. He wraps an arm around me. “Where are we now?”

We’re sitting on a landing, stairs spiraling off into the space above and below us. Grey light filters in a small window. Outside, rain beats against the stone wall in sheets, interrupted by flashes of lightning and low rolls of thunder. I shiver and grab Julian’s hand, pulling his arm tighter around me as my stomach sinks lower into my chest.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” He seems surprised. “We should, um, probably look around then?” He gets to his feet and offers me a hand. “Up, you think? Or down?”

“I’m not sure it matters.”

“Well, down then. More likely to be an exit in that direction.” 

Julian holds tight to my hand as we step carefully down the stairs. There are windows at each landing, but not enough light intrudes to consistently illuminate the space. Lightning cracks outside, the stones tremble, and Julian freezes with his back pressed to the curving wall. “I hate storms.” He draws me closer and folds himself around me. “ _ Hate _ them.”

“Why?” I’ve always rather enjoyed storms, but I’m content enough to be still for a moment.

“Something from childhood. Not important right now.” He releases his hold on me and starts down the stairs again. “Hey, maybe we could get one of those lights?”

“Ugh... why didn’t I think of that?” I open my hand in front of me, palm up, and conjure a little light, focusing it to illuminate the space in front of us. With it in place, the appearance of wear and tear on the stairs is clearer. Worn down years and years of feet pacing over it, each step slopes gently toward its center. The chiseled stones that form the walls fit tightly together, but the mortar between them crumbles when I draw my finger over it, scattering to the floor. There are grooves in the blocks themselves where fingers have dragged along following the spiral of the stairs. We aren’t the first people to have been trapped here.

That thought jolts through me, and suddenly my feet demand to move - to run - down the stairs. There has to be an exit somewhere.  _ There has to be.  _ Julian yells my name, but I can’t stop. Past one landing, then another, and there’s a stitch in my side and burning in my lungs, and I fall hard on my knees, clutching my head and trying to catch my breath. In the corners of my vision, the walls seem like they’re moving closer to me, but that can’t be.

Except it can be. This isn’t the mundane world.

Julian’s arms close around my shoulders. “Dema. What happened? What is it?”

“We’re stuck. We’re stuck, Julian.” I’m sobbing and the tears in my eyes are starting to obscure my vision. Which is fine. There’s nothing to see. “I got us here, and I don’t know how to get out.”

He shushes me, strokes my hair, and rocks me. Inwardly, I’m flailing, trying to figure out how to reach out. To reach Asra. Even reach the Magician. Anyone who might help. But each tendril of awareness crashes into something impenetrable. I know where we are now. Not just a tower -  _ the Tower. _ A tower of the mind. I curl myself into a small ball and huddle against Julian and the relative safety of his arms. Gradually, my breath catches up with me and there’s more space to be found between my gasps.

Outside the rain slows and softens. Beyond the window, a faint cry of fear and pain cuts through the clouds. Julian lets go of me and jumps up, leaning out to look around. I pick myself up out of the floor and stand beside him, unable to see anything but fog as I peer out the window.

“Did you hear that? There’s someone out there.”

Another plaintive cry.  _ “Don’t! Please, don’t leave.” _

“That voice.” I stiffen and curl my fingers around Julian’s wrist.

_ “Don’t leave me to die alone.” _

“Dema.” His voice is low, eyebrows knit together with pain. “Is that your voice?”

I close my eyes, and for a second, I can see the red glinting eyes of the plague doctors’ masks. “No.” It’s only a mimicry. I turn away from the window and sit down heavily on the floor. “I didn’t have enough strength, not at the end, to speak.” That memory, being hauled away, too weak to protest or even indicate I was alive - will it be the only one I ever recover? My fingers close around the bridge of my nose. “It’s the Tower, taunting us, taunting you. We’re in the Tower’s Realm.”

“Is that, um, another Arcana?”

I nod. Asra intended for us - well, me with Julian tagging along - to find the Magician’s realm and relative safety. Instead, I’ve managed to land us in the realm of one of the more distinctively dangerous Arcana.

“It’s taunting us? With what?”

There's another distant wail. I shudder and draw my arms close to my chest. “With fear? Feeling helpless?”

“Guilt,” Julian speaks slowly as he kneels beside me. “I shouldn't have . . . You shouldn't have been alone. You should have left with Asra. If I hadn't asked you...”

“Julian.” I touch my hand to the side of his face, cutting him off. “If I am that person, I can't imagine anyone made me stay or could have made me leave. I'm stubborn if nothing else.”

He smiles sadly and leans his face against my hand, closing his eyes as the rain picks up again. “You are that, my dear.”

I run my thumb over his bottom lip. “And you're here with me now. That's what matters.”

There's another painful scream from outside the tower. Brave words forgotten, I tense and clasp my hands over my ears. This voice isn’t mine. It’s high pitched and young and so, so much worse than hearing myself. Julian leaps to his feet. “Damnit!” Other voices join the first, almost drowned out by the rain and thunder. Older voices. A man, a woman. Calling for Pasha, for Ilya. “You’re not there! You can’t be there.” His voice cracks as he leans out the window. When his hands press against the sill, the mortar around a brick gives, and it falls away. Julian throws himself backward landing on the floor beside me.

“Umm... Not my most graceful moment.” He sits up and rubs his back. “That’s a way to knock yourself back into the present.”

I roll my eyes and grin. As I do, there’s a thump behind me. The brick Julian knocked from the windowsill lands on the stone floor behind us. Julian looks at it with a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Well, that’s interesting.” He begins the protracted process of pulling off one of his boots. 

“What are you doing?”

“Science, darling.”

A flask falls out of his boot. I pick it, unscrew the top, and sniff at the contents. Whiskey. Exactly how our possessions made it across the divide with us isn’t something I can explain, but I’ll take it. And a sip of this. The moment of sweetness followed by a sharp burn down the back of my throat soothes some of my anxiety. After all, what can I do? We’re stuck. For that matter, I close my eyes and concentrate, imagining loose pants and my favorite soft, wool sweater. When I open them again, the ballgown has been replaced and Julian is staring at me in amazement.

“If I’m stuck between realms, I may as well be comfortable.” I take another sip from the flask. “And tipsy.”

“Fair.” He stands back up and chucks his boot out the window. “Now, if I’m right . . .” A moment later his boot comes flying in the opposite window, sliding across the floor. “Ah, and I'm right! Now for one other test.” He walks over to the rail, gait thrown off by the heel of the boot he’s left on, and drops the boot down the tower shaft. He looks up and holds out his hand, deftly snagging his boot as it drops back through the tower. “That's what I call evidence.”

I smile again as he tugs his now well-traveled boot back on. “And what does that evidence say?”

“If nothing else that this place does operate according to laws that can be observed. And if we can understand those, then maybe we can find a way out. So far, it seems like a closed loop. Things end up back where they started.” He paces back and forth. “Now I just have to figure out how to apply it. Never regretted studying science instead of magic before. I don’t intend to start now.”

“Instead of?”

“Well, both isn’t an option.” He pauses his paces and looks at me. “Is it?”

“I studied medicine. Some, right? During the plague? That’s science isn’t it?”

“Ideally.”

“Why couldn’t you learn magic?” I take another sip of whiskey from his flask. Warmth is growing in my belly and the tip of my nose. An improvement, I don’t care quite as much about the mess we’re in. “I could teach you. Now even.”

“Doesn’t it require years of study. And I don’t have any talent.”

“Talent helps, but it isn’t required. And -” I gesture to the space around us. “We have more time than anything else.”

He crosses his arms over his chest and looks around, then down at the toes of his boots. “Whoever thought I’d be afraid to learn something new?”

“We don’t have too.” I fish around in my pocket, unsurprised to find that my cards have made the journey as well. “These are good for games too. Strip poker?”

He chuckles. “I also never thought that I’d say these words: Now is not the time for strip poker.”

I shift around to sit cross-legged, back still to the wall, and pat the floor in front of me. I don’t particularly care what we do, as long as the voices don’t start again. “Tell me about Malak. You have a familiar?”

“Well...” He sits down across from me, mirroring my posture. “I mean, I didn’t think of him like that. I just thought he’d decided to start following me around.”

“When?” I hold the flask out to Julian. He takes it from me and drinks.

“When I left Vesuvia. Drove Maz and her crew crazy.”

“And started talking to you?”

“At first I just thought he was particularly clever. Ravens do learn to talk, you know.” He drinks again. “But no one else heard him, so well, I decided I just better keep that to myself.”

“I see.” Three years ago. Right when he was roped into Asra’s ritual and whatever greater game the Devil and Valdemar were playing. “Julian, if you didn’t have any aptitude for magic before, I think you do now.”

“You mean other than?” He touches the base of his throat and grimaces when I nod. “Excellent. Just what I wanted. More magicky things.”

“Come on, let’s try this.”

He bites his lip and looks around the empty space. “Why not? How do we start?”

I rack my brain for a moment. Asra and I both use mental visualizations to do spellwork, but I don’t think those will appeal to Julian. He needs something he can observe, something more concrete. “Do you have something to write with?”

“Darling, I always have something to write with.” He rummages through the inside pockets of his coat, finally producing a palm-sized notebook and a stub of a pencil. “Never know when I’ll need to take notes. Do I, um, need to take notes?”

“Not exactly.” I take the notebook from his hands and lay it on the floor between us, open to a blank page. I begin by sketching a circle on the paper and begin filling in sigils, explaining their meaning to Julian as I go. “This is an anchor - of sorts - for those orbs of light Asra and I can summon. The sigil is for light and this final one indicates action. This version is for something temporary - a spell that will only hold while you’re actively thinking about it. If you wanted a spell that would last for some time, you’d use a slightly different sigil.” I sketched the second version in the top corner of the page as a demonstration then set aside the pencil and took his hands in mine. “Put your hands here and here. And think about light.”

“Think what about light?”

“Anything. Sun, stars, a glowing candle . . . it’s your intent that fuels the magic.”

Julian stares at the paper intently, and for a moment, I’m worried that this won’t actually work. But then a faint, incandescent ball flickers above the page. Julian raises his eyes to mine, a mad grin on his face, and the orb gutters for a second before steadying again. I smile and clap my hands together with delight. “You’ve got it.”

He takes his hands off the paper and the light extinguishes itself. “What else can you do like this?”

“Well, this is a handy modification.” I pick the pencil back up and add another sigil to the design, significantly smaller than the one I had used for light. “This symbolizes heat. The relative size of the symbols is important. Try it again, but think of something that has both light and warmth this time.”

“Hmm. A beach, in the summer, or somewhere near the equator.” He places his hands back on the paper and the light flares back to life, this time casting warmth along with its glow. I hold my hands close to the orb, I hadn't recognized the Tower’s chill working into my flesh. The whiskey had masked it nicely. Julian smiles at me. “You say that if you changed that other sigil this would last even without active intent.”

“Yes, how long would depend on how much skill and your strength of will in setting it up, but it would last some time.”

He lifts his hands off the paper, then laces his fingers into mine. “That - thank you. I never thought I even could do something like this.” 

“I . . . don’t thank me until we’re out of this disaster I’ve created.” I bow my head. “This is my fault.”

“Dema.” He’s quiet for a moment, then I feel him touch his forehead to mine. “We’ll figure it out. Do you know what realm we’re in? Can you tell me more about it?”

I close my eyes to think. The Tower symbolizes destruction, the crumbling of false beliefs and habits. It can be traumatic - most decks some two figures falling from a tower that has been destroyed by lightning. We could try jumping, I suppose, but if the same rules that apply to Julian’s boots apply to us, we’ll end right back here. Asra’s deck keeps the image of a tower crumbling from a strike of lightning, but adds a haunting profile of a deer, and the red beetles that hopefully haven’t followed Lucio into Vesuvia in our absence.

_ “. . . can’t keep this up. . . . so tired.” _

For a moment, I think that the words are just in my head; the intermittent refrain that plays when I don’t keep myself busy enough. Then Julian grabs my arms. “Do you hear that?” The voice is still mine but low and sibilant, splitting and echoing over itself. 

_ “Stop. Just stop. . . . fuck this up too.”  _ I shudder and wrap my arms around myself. If I hadn’t agreed to take the Devil’s offer, we might be back with Asra, maybe not safe and sound, but at least, not stuck here. 

_ “It’s always going to be like this. Always come back to this again.” _

“Look at me.” Julian’s voice breaks through, and I open my eyes. He’s leaning over, face close to mine, brows pinched with worry. “It’s that voice again. You said earlier it was taunting me. It’s doing the same thing to you.”

“I can’t escape myself.” My voice is small.

“Listen to me. You don't need to escape yourself. You aren't a fuck up.”

“How can you say that when everything I’ve ever done, everything that I do ends up crumbling to ash around me?” The chill I felt a moment before turns to a flare of fever, and I hug my arms tighter to my chest, a sob escaping as I do. 

“Dammit, Dema, where is your stubbornness?” He pulls me close to him, one hand stroking my hair, the other rubbing my back. “Come on, you've gotten me to come up from the bottom of how many bottles.”

I hiccup - dignity thoroughly gone - and huddle closer to him. I cast my magic around me. I can just feel the Tower’s magic, a constricting ring spinning around me - around us. “I - it always comes back. I can feel so strong, so brave, but it always comes back to this.” At the end of it all, I’m forever, trapped, helpless.

“Why does one have to be more real than the other?”

“What?”

“If it’s a pattern - a constant repetition - why is, why should, the feeling of helplessness be more real than the feeling of power?”

“I, I don’t know.” There’s a blood curdling shriek from outside the Tower. I fling my magic against the circulating ring of the Tower’s power. For a moment, I feel it give and the Tower itself tremors, but the spinning resumes, and the sense of constraint snaps back around me. Anger replaces despair. “Fucking hell!”

Julian wraps his arms tighter around me as the Tower stills. The stones settle back around us, heavy and unmovable and very, very cold. My chest convulses as I drag air into it in halting gasps. So hard to move, even just incremental nudges to get closer to Julian. Lead, iron, something - there must be something - wrapped around my arms, my neck, weighing me down.

Fingers slip underneath my chin and lift it a little. “Breath, darling.”

“We’re trapped.” It’s more of a whine than words that leaves my lips. Wine. I wouldn’t mind some wine right now.

“You’ll think of something.”

_ “I can’t.” _ My mind moves too slow and too fast simultaneously. Going nowhere. We’re going nowhere.

“Then  _ we’ll _ think of something.”

I remain huddled close against him with my eyes squeezed shut. The Tower tremors again. Pulses that shake my bones. Or maybe it’s the beating of my heart. “What if we escape this place only to fall somewhere worse?”

“We’ll still be together.” He strokes my hair. “We’ll figure it out. We’ve got to try.”

It’s still a struggle to breathe. I tremble against him, and the Tower shudders around me, responding to the rolls of thunder outside. My bones are going to shake apart. Shake apart and still be held together in some monstrous form by the cold links wrapped around me.

Lightning strikes around, and Julian curls tighter around me. The Tower quakes and jolts. It can’t hold. It can’t stay like this. It just can’t. Something will change. Change and not loop back into the same pattern as before. But something in it has to change. 

“You’re right.”

“I am? I mean, of course, I am.”

“I’m going to try something.” Getting to my feet is a struggle, even using Julian’s shoulder to help pull myself up. “If you’ll lend me some magic.”

“Of course, but um, how do I do that?”

“Just, concentrate on something that makes you feel strong. And let me be in control.”

He chuckles and his mouth quirks into a smile. “Darling, those are words I love to hear.”

“And hang on.” Given how the Tower itself shook when I pushed back against it before and the traditional illustration on the cards, I suspected that we’d find ourselves falling again. I close my eyes and reach out again. I can feel Julian’s own magic pulsing beneath mine, steady and completely at my command. The Tower’s ring is still there, spinning. I push against it, outward. Everything shakes. I push again, this time imagining myself kicking, struggling, anything except letting myself - letting us - be contained. Lightning crashes through the window and instead of fighting, I let it flow through me, into my blood and bone before pulling it into the center of myself. 

Thunder rolls and the Tower crumbles. As we fall again, I scream in both triumph and terror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm... a little black cat instead of a cute anthropomorphic pupper. Wonder where she came from?
> 
> Thanks for reading! Sing out with comments - I love hearing from people. :)


	9. Exhaustible and Inefficient

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from [Devotchka, "Exhaustible"](https://youtu.be/GQepeHU6JM4)
> 
> For Ben. Seven years. Ten years. Too many in a tower.  
> CW: Description of self-harm scars.

Cold. Freezing, burning, stinging cold, closing around my head. My lips open and snap shut immediately because there’s no air, just the taste of salt. Julian’s arms still clutch mine. He lets go of one, kicking and pulling to the surface, dragging me with him. Our heads break the surface, and I gasp for air while Julian turns me around, holding my back to his chest and wrapping his arms around my waist.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m -” There’s rain hitting my face, and I can hear thunder in the distance, but the sea itself seems relatively calm. “Okay.”

Julian’s kicks steady out a bit, enough to keep our heads above the water. “Fuck. Shit, shit, shit. Can you swim?”

“Some.”

“Better than nothing.” He kicks harder, lifting us both out to chest level, and I can feel him craning his neck around, looking for anything that might steer us in the right direction. “Dammit, I can’t, oh hell.”

I have no idea what to do either. Frying pan. Fire. Or fishbowl to the ocean... _Fuck._

Violet-white light blinds me and strikes the waves, followed immediately by a thunderclap that doesn’t quite drown out the sound of Julian’s scream. His arms loosen for a moment, then clutch at my arms again. The reverberations fade away, leaving behind a whorl in the waves that drags at us, pulling us toward its center.

A whorl that glitters without light, an amethyst made of water. 

Julian tries to fight it, paddling backward with one arm.

“Wait. Stop.” A splash of water hits my mouth and I spit it back out with a cough. “Can’t you see?”

“See what?”

“Magic. It’s some kind of magic.”

His frantic motions still and both arms wrap around me again. “Hell... Is that good?”

I reach out. The swirling water is a little warmer, and it feels... gentle, somehow? Not comforting, not really, but friendlier somehow. “This is the way out.” Well, maybe not the way out. There’s always hypothermia, but that’s not especially attractive. At any rate, not without whiskey. “A way, at least.” The glittering water wraps around us and spins us about slowly, pushing us upwards not dragging down.

“Hell.” His chest is heaving against my back. “Hell, what is this?”

“I don’t know, just...” There’s no struggle to keep my head above water now, and I wiggle free of his rapidly loosening grip and trade places, holding him against me. “Well, it’s not trying to kill us.”

He tilts his head back on my shoulder with a groan, eyes screwed shut. “Dema.”

“I’ve got you.” I want to tell him that everything is going to be okay, but I’m not at all sure of that myself. The current is moving us and buoying us, and that’s about the best I can hope for right now. Julian’s fingers find mine and grasp them tightly. “Breathe, okay.” 

As we drift along with the whims of the current, the clouds above clear, revealing a night sky of foreign stars. I watch them, try to encourage Julian to open his eyes, and whisper reassurances to when he whimpers in my arms. 

I don’t know how much time passes before a shoreline comes into view. Palm trees. Palms that are either very much the wrong color or very much the right color - emerald and violet and teal, rising over a pink sand beach.

The swells of the waves rise higher as the shore approaches. The water changes again. Cold and violent again. A wave crashes over our heads, shoving down, down until I feel rough sand against my skin. It tumbles me about and I fight to find the bottom with my feet and get my head above the surface. 

Julian is able to stand well before I am. He tugs on my arms, hauling us both onto land and pulls me close to him before we both fall on the sand. I curl my fingers into his drenched hair and pat his cheeks. Waves lap at my feet. Both Julian and I are soaked through with seawater. He's even paler than usual, and in the moment between observing his color and seeing his chest rise and fall, I panic then collapse against his chest when he breathes again. 

Even if - I remind myself sternly - we don't actually need to breathe in these realms.

But he _is_ breathing. Just too fast, heart racing in his chest. “Julian. Ilya. We’re okay. We’re on land.” I press his hand down on the sand, and his fingers curl, digging into it. “See, sand. Deep breath, honey. Okay?” I start counting for him. The same patterns that help me calm down, praising him and watching the color return to his cheeks. 

A cold wind blows off the ocean. Shivering, I work a spell to dry out my clothes, doing the same for Julian before leaning over him, tracing the back of my fingers along his cheekbones and pressing kisses to his eyelids. He stirs after a few kisses, throwing a lazy arm around me and pulling me closer to him without opening his eyes.

“Did we make it? Are we in this Magician's realm?”

“We did. It's kinda pretty here if you want to open your eyes.” The beach we're lying on is the same tropical fantasy of palm trees and pink sand Asra and I visited before. I don't understand why it's so cold now.

Julian opens his eyes and slowly sits up, looking around. “This isn't, uh, like any tropical island I've ever visited.”

“I haven't visited any. At least, not as far as I know.”

“I've also never been on a tropical island this cold.” Julian still had his feathered coat from the masquerade, but it's made for style, not warmth. As for me, I'm very glad that I'm not still wearing a dress with slits all the way up each leg.

“Well -” I stand, brush the sand off my pants, and offer Julian my hand. “Let's go visit the Magician. It might be warmer in his lair.”

“Lair? That’s ominous. I thought this guy was one of the good ones.”

“Define good.” I start walking along the beach, heading toward the copse of palm trees that shelter the entrance to the Magician’s abode. Before the Magician held court in a facsimile of my shop. I wonder if he'll keep that illusion, or select something new. I take Julian’s hand, unsure if he’ll be able to see the faint glimmer between the palm trees and pull him after me.

Inside, the Magician has recreated the back room of the shop again. He’s sitting behind the reading table, wearing Asra’s appearance, an inscrutable smile spread across his face. Julian’s hand tightens around mine.

“Dema, Julian, I see you did manage to escape the Tower.”

“Wait -” Julian releases my hand. “You’ve never called me - you’re not.”

The Magician laughs and shimmers slightly as he reverts to the form of a fox headed being. “Very good, Ilya.” He snaps his fingers and two stools appear on our side of the reading table. “Sit. You must be quite tired. Traveling between realms is no small feat.”

I sink onto one stool. Julian follows me after a moment, staring warily at the Magician. The fox simply smiles at us and shuffles his deck of cards. 

“Tell me, Dema, do you think you’re safe now?”

“No.” I can’t keep the resentment from my voice or the image of Asra’s aura fading into the Magician’s out of my head. Asra trusts the Magician, but I can’t bring myself to do so.

The Magician touches his chin then begins to lay the cards out on the table, face down. “What questions have you come with this time?”

I keep my mouth shut, unwilling to verbalize questions that I know won’t be answered. Julian lacks any such reticence.

“How do we get back to the real world? To home?”

The Magician waves his hands over the cards laid out in a precise line. “Choose three, Ilya. Let’s see what they have to say.”

Julian’s fingers hover over the cards, then in a sudden quick movement, he pulls three toward him, laying them in a haphazard row.

“Ilya, I wonder just how much are you willing to give to get both of you home again?” 

Julian’s eyebrows knit together, and he stares at the Magician in uncharacteristic silence. I reach for him, settling my hand on his knee as I recall the ghost of a memory of him and Asra, in the back room of the shop - the one on which the Magician has modeled this space. The cool calculation in Asra’s eyes when he asked just how much he was willing to give and then sliced his hand open. Everything had been his answer then, but he’s already given that, given everything. How could that be asked of him again?

The Magician’s black nails slip under the edge of the first card and flip it over. The Nine of Swords, reversed. The image is the one from Asra’s deck: a dragon rising with nine swords threatening its head. My hand slides into my pocket and retrieves my own deck. I shuffle through the cards until I find the same one and lay in on the table, oriented toward Julian and me the way Asra’s card is oriented to the Magician. The image of a person waking from a nightmare resonates with Julian’s sobs on the shoreline.

“So, um, I have to give up what - using swords hung on a wall as a ladder?”

“Has that ever gotten you anywhere, Ilya? Or have you only continued to lacerate yourself over past tragedy?”

Julian rubs his chin and makes a little noise in his throat. “No. No, it hasn’t. Not really.”

“I wouldn’t think so. What else do you see?”

Picking up my card, he holds it closer to his face and studies the image. “Alone. Very, very alone. And-” He spins the card around and examines the carving on the side of the bed frame. “What’s that of? Two people, I think, but I can’t tell if they’re fighting or if one is trying to help the other.”

The Magician shrugs. “What do you think? Will one accept the other’s help so that he won’t struggle alone?” Julian shivers at the words. “Or will he continue to fight it off? Out of pride? Fear?”

Julian says nothing as he sets the card back down, but his knee nudges against mine under the table and his hand finds mine again. “What’s next then?”

“An adventurer should be open to new experiences, don’t you think? Open to new ways of seeing and doing?” The Magician turns over a very different card next. Strength, upright. My own card is under my fingertips at the first cut: A woman in a flower crown holding a lion by his head. Asra’s illustration combines the motifs into a lion-headed woman wearing a crown of flowers. Both illustrations are serene - serene enough that I feel a little of the tension exhaling from my body.

“She doesn’t at all look scared that the lion is about to take off her hand, does she?”

“If the lion bites off her hand, does he also take off his own, I wonder?”

“He certainly looks happy enough to be where he is. Is the woman strength then? What kind?”

“The card represents Strength. The woman does not.”

“So -” Julia touches Asra’s card. “Strength is the two working together then?”

“Instinct led by wisdom. Power that knows when to act and when to remain at rest. Not mindless momentum forward. Action that understands the consequences.”

“And last, something of your own that you need to hang on to.”

The Ten of Cups, upright. Asra’s happily colored fish matches the mood of the card. I flip through my own deck again, finding the same card easily and set it down in front of Julian. A sweet scene of people celebrating the appearance of a rainbow. “When’s the last time you didn’t run from someone who wanted to care for you?”

“I, um -” Julian glances at me, then looks down and away. “Well...”

“And yet, I think you have so many if you choose to hold onto them.” The Magician leans his elbows on the table and rests his chin on his folded hands. “People who want you to get home. Safe and whole.”

Julian remains quiet, head tilted down. I run my hand along his spine and through his hair. Mazalinka, Portia, Asra, Artemis, Nadia - I think, and Nazali - I’m certain. Me. Of course, me; although, I may not be that helpful right now. 

The backroom dissolves around us and suddenly Julian and I are back on the beach, shivering in the freezing wind. The sun set while we spoke with the Magician adding another layer to the cold.

“He’s not especially helpful, is he?”

“No. No, not really.” I look around the empty beach and sigh. 

“We should probably try to find some sort of shelter then. To wait for Asra.”

I nod, then square my hands on my hips. I'm cranky. And cold. But mostly cranky. Asra said we’d find safe harbor here. I just might have to insist on it with our enigmatic host. Pulling Julian’s face down to my height, I press a quick kiss to his lips. “I’ll be back. I think.”

I stalk back into the Magician’s lair.

* * *

When I push through back into the Magician’s abode, the space still has the appearance of my shop, but now we’re upstairs. The Magician - wearing his own face this time - is sitting at the kitchen table, a steaming mug of tea between his hands.

“You’re back, little one. More questions?”

“You’re not a very good host. It’s freezing out there.”

He tilts his head, regarding me with those glowing purple eyes. “Ah, Dema, I do like you.” The Magician gestures to the table, and a deck of cards manifests on it. “Come. Sit. I believe the cards have things to say to you as well.”

I set both hands flat on the table and lean over it, staring into the Magician’s amethyst eyes. “That current? In the ocean. It was you. Wasn’t it.”

“I fear what Asra would do if he lost you again. Lost Ilya.”

“He wouldn't -”

“Wouldn’t he? Asra’s wounds are deep, even if they aren’t written on his skin, and they’ve made him ruthless.”

“But -” I sink down on the chair across from the Magician and let my head drop into my hands.

“He’ll be tempted. And offered much the Devil needs Asra more than any of the others. Anyone can be a fool. And there are many who manifest the power of my other siblings, at least in their own way. Fewer are like me. To have power and desire to use it.”

“I don’t want -” _No._ I don’t know what I want. My temples are beginning to pound beneath my fingertips. “What does the Devil want anyway?”

“Indeed. What would satisfy a being whose very nature is desire without limit?”

“Everything.” When I lift my head, I'm not surprised to see the card in front of me - a twisted figure clutching at the chains of those he's bound to him. “He wants everything. That's why he needs all twenty-two at that table.” 

The Magician says nothing. He sweeps the card back up into the deck and deals three out in front of me.

I flip the first card over, blaming my shaking hand on the fact that it's so damn cold outside. Not the dread that Asra might undo the universe to bring me back to him. Or that he might not rescue me this time.

“You must give up something as well, little fool.”

“The Eight of Swords.” I laugh. I can't help it. The card is too appropriate. I might as well be wearing a blindfold and tired with my hands behind my back.

The Magician asks his next question without waiting for me to speak the words. “And how much longer will you tell yourself that?” 

“I don't know. I keep... Every time I try...” I shiver, close my eyes, and then snap them open again as the memory of Julian's body dropping from the gallows appears. “Everything seems to go wrong.”

“And if you do nothing?”

Another laugh escapes my lips. “And still everything goes wrong.”

“Hmm... What do you need, little one?” The Magician turns over the next card. A member of the court, albeit a junior one. “The Page of Wands. A youth coming into his own.”

“Acting independently. Perhaps for the first time.” 

“Beginning to believe in his own intuition, find his own wisdom even?” 

The Magician’s sharp claws brush over the back of my hand, and we turn the last card together. The Queen of Wands seated serenely on her throne, confident in who she is and what she knows to be true. My fingers linger on the bottom edge of the card, touching the small figure of a black cat perched at the Queen's feet. 

“Yes. The answer to the question you're thinking.”

“It's a hard thing to hold onto.” Harder even when it's faith alone and there are no memories, no knowledge on which to hang my sense of self.

“Were it easy, I might not have to remind you.”

“And is that all you can do? Cryptic warnings and reminders?” It's not a fair statement. Not when he sent a current to bring us here. But my temper begins to flare again. “I'm only human. How can I stop some arcane power hell bent on domination?”

The Magician tilts his head to one side. “ _Only_ human?”

“Yes. Human. And confused and cold and exhausted, and there's nothing but freezing wind and _ridiculous pink sand_ out there!”

The Magician lifts a hand and gestures to the whole of the apartment. My apartment. My fucking apartment in my fucking shop. “Take what you want. Believe the object will come with you when you leave, and it will be so.”

Too annoyed for manners, I nod curtly and strip the blankets from the bed in the back room. My blankets. My bed. I should kick the fox headed arcanum out and drag Julian in here. There's a half empty glass bottle of spirits on the bedside table - right where I might have left it in the real world - that I tuck into the bundle before stomping back to the kitchen. 

The Magician watches as I glance around the front room. Before I’ve been sent from here, the space dissolving around me. I’ve never left of my own accord before. Remembering what he said about the objects I chose to take, I grit my teeth and decide that stepping onto the stairs will lead me back to the beach and Julian. When I put my foot down, it sinks into the sand. I smile in satisfaction; the blankets remain bundled in my arms.

* * *

On the beach, Julian is kneeling in the sand, surrounded by a circle of glowing fairy lights. He beckons to me excitedly as I approach. He’s sketched the sigils for light and heat directly into the sand, creating a small, but effective sanctuary from the cold. 

“Look at you!”

He smiles up at me as he takes the pile of blankets from my hands. “I know. It took a bit of fiddling before I got the balance of light to heat right, but once I did.” 

I step into the circle of light and warmth, careful not to disturb any of the sigils he’s drawn, and drop to my knees. I unfold one of the blankets, spreading it between us. “This is wonderful, Julian.” He shucks off his boots and sets them to the side of the blanket before brushing the sand off his knees and climbing onto the blanket. As the wind blows in, momentarily pushing the warmth away, he picks up another blanket and drapes it around my shoulders.

“Now if I can just figure out how to deal with the wind.”

“I can take care of that.” I step out of the circle for a moment and sketch another set of marks into the sand in front of the glowing orbs, creating an invisible windbreak between us and the sea. Shaking the sand off my feet, I return to Julian and the nest he’s made of the blankets.

“Much better.” He pulls me down beside him. “And even better now.”

I pick up his hand and run my fingers between his, kissing the mark tattooed on the back of his left hand. “I like your hands. Bare like this.”

“Oh, but the gloves are part of my overall mysterious, sexy look.”

“The gloves are only sexy in the taking off thereof.” I let go of his hand and lean into Julian's chest pushing aside his shirt and kissing his collarbone. 

“Hmm, most clothing can be sexy if someone is taking it off. Even this ratty old sweater.” His hands edge underneath the edge of my sweater.

“Ratty?”

“Well loved, then.” 

He leans over, kissing my forehead then the side of my jaw whole his hand creeps under the hem of my much mended sweater. I stretch my arms over my head, inviting him to peel it off me. The shirt I have on underneath is simple and sleeveless, held together by a row of buttons down the front. I catch his hand, pressing it flat against my sternum.

“Ilya -”

“What is it?”

“What the Magician asked -” I glance to the side, away from his face, but the ring of lights is the same blue-grey as his eyes. “What you're willing to give - it's asking too much for you to give more than you already have.”

“Dema -”

“No. If there's an opportunity to send you back to the real world, to your body, even if it's without me, I want you to take it.”

His free hand traces along my jaw and I turn my head, leaning into his hand. He shakes his head. “Not without you.” He’s quiet for a moment, studying my face. “I was terrified when we fell into the sea. When Portia and I were little, we were shipwrecked. Storm of the century, according to the babushki. And she was so little then, so I was hanging onto her and onto a broken piece of the ship for an entire night. I didn't know how we were going to make it.”

“Ilya -”

He shakes off my hand then rolls over and sits up, tugging me back into his lap. “But morning came, and we washed up on the shore, and that was that. It was fine.” He runs his hand through my hair, then holds me tightly against him. “It'll be fine.”

“I want to believe you,” I murmur into his shoulder. 

“Then believe me.” He presses a kiss to my neck. “Or, at least, let me distract you.”

I tilt my head to the side and such with pleasure as he finds a sensitive spot and sucks at it. I lay back, tugging him down with me, one leg wrapped around his back. He continues nibbling down my neck, to my collarbone, works the buttons on my shirt loose before pushing the fabric aside, and stopping. He props himself out on his elbow with a thoughtful look and lazily traces his finger over my ribcage and along my sternum, dragging the back of his nail over the top of my right breast.

“What are you thinking, Ilya?”

“Oh, you, um, had a tattoo here -” He traces the same path backward with his hand, stopping just past the edge of my ribs. “- to here.”

“Well -” I half sit up, weight reading in my elbows. “I didn’t do things by halves, did I? What of?”

He chuckles and leans down, pressing his lips to my collarbone. “ _Zhar-ptitsa_ \- firebird - a phoenix. You said you got it because you were constantly -”

“- unmaking and remaking myself.” I drop my head back against the sand as the words leave my mouth. I can feel the drag of magic like silk - red silk - against my skin, as a glamour being pulled away in this place where time flows along rhizomatic paths. When I lift my head, I can just see the red feathered head of a phoenix marked on the top of my breast, with its elegant neck curving down. Julian’s hands tighten around my wrists, suddenly holding my arms down. “Ilya - what?”

“How much - did you remember anything else - just now?”

“Just the end of that sentence. Why? What?”

He looks at me with worry in his eyes. “You can’t undo whatever it is you just did?”

“I don’t think I did it.”

He presses his cheek to mine. “I love you. You know that.”

“Julian. What is it?”

“Here, uh, close your eyes and sit up.”

I comply and he pulls on my arms, pulling me upright. He turns over my right arm and presses his lips softly against the inside of my wrist before letting go of that hand. “Okay.” I open my eyes and look down. Two scars run the entire length of my inner arm, a shorter fainter one tracing between them. 

“Oh.” My gut twists. “And the other.” Julian lets go of my left wrist, uncurling each finger slowly. I turn my arm over slowly. My breath catches in my throat. I look away, right hand covering my mouth, then turn my head back. The inside of my left arm is more scar tissue than not, cuts shallow and deep, welts from burns, and what looks like the traces of skin being torn away. Closing my eyes, I drop my head against Julian’s shoulder and let me pull me tight against him. “When did I . . . ?”

“Before we met.”

“So you don’t know -”

“We never really talked too much about it. Um, you told me once that the left was worse, the burns and hesitation marks, because when things were really bad -”

“- it didn’t even feel like a part of me. That sometimes happens. Still.” I tuck that arm between us hiding the twisted scars against my stomach. “And you fell in love with me anyway.”

“ _Solnishka_ -” 

“But, why, why would Asra bring me back if... ?”

“Because he loves you. Because that piece of his heart was already gone before he made a bargain to bring you back. You already had it.” He curls his hand around the back of my skull, weaving his fingers through my hair. “And I am so very grateful he did.”

We’re quiet. I focus on my breathing, bringing it into harmony with Julian’s. Eventually, he lies back down, still cuddling me close to him and running his fingers through my hair. The sound of the waves fades, replaced by the cracking of a hearth fire. I'm hunched over the scarred wooden table in the kitchen of the shop. My arms are bandaged - half-healed and itching. A different, smaller hand rests on the back of my head stroking hair that's cropped close to my scalp. 

“I'll help you, child.” The voice is a woman's, roughened by age. “But you'll have to find reasons to carry on in yourself. I can't give that to you.”

Aunt. _My aunt._

The sound of the fire fades before I can turn and try to recover anything else from the memory - a glimpse of her face, another word.

The wind of the waves picks up again. I snuggle close to Julian, listening to his heartbeat. Earlier tonight he said he wanted a future now - reason. And wanted to help people - meaning. I kiss the edge of his jaw and pull away from him, sitting up.

“Well, this explains why Asra lost his shit the time I burned myself trying to cook.” I stretch my arms behind me, arching my back as I do.

“Oh?”

“I had to demonstrate how I knocked my arm against the iron skillet before he believed it was an accident. Been banned from the kitchen since.”

“Yeah, I can see him being like that. Are -- are you okay?”

“Well, I’m kind of pissed I don’t have a mirror. This phoenix tattoo seems pretty epic from the little bit I can see.” Julian gives me a serious look, and I sigh and lie back down on the blanket, abandoning the attempt to deflect the situation with dark humor. “At least as okay as I was before. Just now I know.” I reach up and run a hand down his chest. “But I won’t object to more cuddling.”

Julian laughs and wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me close to him. “You can always have more of that, my darling.”

“Asra’s going to have a conniption. When he sees me. Isn’t he?”

“Probably.”

“Shit. I . . . I hate seeing him cry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look.... another heavy chapter... But you might have learned a little more about our feline friend. 
> 
> To those of you sticking with me, many thanks.


	10. Hold on to the Air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from this Bi-2 song: [Hold Onto the Air](https://youtu.be/d1KTNYXnGus)
> 
> Here's the first verse and the a link to the rest of an English translation. But seriously, go check out the video, it's pretty evocative of the mood I'm aiming for.
> 
> _The light dies out in the windows  
>  It seems that (dies) forever.  
> On foreign planet  
> I lose ground under feet.  
> Half of a kingdom for one ticket  
> It's sufficient price  
> Out of thousands of ways  
> I have chosen this.  
> Hold the air,  
> The sharp stars.  
> Touch the huge sky._
> 
> [Translation](https://lyricstranslate.com/en/derzhatsya-za-vozduh-derzhatsya-za-vozdukh-hold-air.html)

Between the two of them, Nadia and Muriel coax Asra into drinking tea. Under any other circumstances, he would have found contrast of Nadia’s elegant clothes and slender hands working in concert with Muriel’s rough fingers and rougher clothes amusing. It would have warmed his heart to see Muriel in a brightly lit room with other people, and if not entirely comfortable, at least not running away.

These weren't such circumstances. Malak’s calls roused Chandra, and the owl led Nadia straight to them. She escorted them to Dema's guest rooms, giving commands for servants to bring food and drink - and for stars sake, keep this quiet - while Chandra and Malak careened through the palace halls gathering others. As they went, the tension that had kept Asra upright and focused while getting Dema and Ilya into one of the fixed realms and relative safety started to dissipate. By the time they reached the room, he was shaking with sobs and relying on Muriel to keep him upright.

Nadia fusses over him, wrapping him up tightly in a blanket and petting his hair, until Dr. Satrinava arrives, and the Countess hands him over to their more business-like care. 

“No concussion. Just shock.” Nazali pats his trembling hand. “Eat something sweet and keep drinking tea. Don't try to tell us what happened yet.” Faust curls around him, and Inanna climbs onto the bed and settles beside him. Soft and warm. He doesn't think there's ever been a wolf as soft as Inanna but Muriel keeps her immaculately groomed - even shampooing her coat with eggs. Muri finds his way to a shadowy corner of the room, but he accepts a cup of tea from Nasmira with a whispered thanks. Asra hadn't noticed the other princess arrive.

“Asra!” Portia bursts through the door and the bubble of quiet. Nahara follows her, assuming a protective stance by the door, one hand on the hilt of the short sword strapped around her waist. “Where's Ilya?” Portia ignores Dr. Satrinava's attempt to shush her. “What's going on?”

“He -” Asra's voice cracks, and he drinks most of his tea, trying to get it back. “The Devil. Valdemar.” There are too many emotions spinning his head for him to put things back into a coherent order. Spinning too fast for him to catch them, and drag them down, and bury them.

“Asra, dear.” Nadia sits down beside him and strokes his hair, the way a mother might try to soothe a distressed child. “Slow down.”

“Valdemar?” Portia's eyes widen, and her fingers twist in the sash of her costume. “What about them? And Dema -”

“Dema and Ilya are somewhere in the arcane realms.” Muriel speaks quietly from his place in the corner, but his deep voice carries through the room. “Dema made a deal with the Devil. Ilya followed her.”

“She did what?” Portia sounds equal parts confused and enraged. “Who are you?” 

_ What is like to be able to just let emotions out like that? It must be a relief. _ “He's my friend.” Asra just manages to get the words out. “Dema. The deal. It was to end the plague. Ilya tried to grab her and got pulled out of his body.” He swallows hard. “Valdemar took it.”

“What!” Portia's shriek pierces his temples, and he winces even though he deserves it. He should have been able to stop it, or fix it, or at least make sure that Dema and Ilya were actually somewhere safe.

Nahara steps across the room and takes Portia's shoulders, pulling her close.

“Ilya thinks they'll head to their lab.” His voice sounds flat. Even to himself.

“Well we have to go get him. His body. I mean. Oh my god, not again. Not in one day.” Portia turns a little in Nahara's embrace, and the very formidable princess rubs her back with surprising tenderness.

“Yes.” Nadia pinches the bridge of her nose tightly, face tilted down into the palm of her hand. As if hiding her eyes will pause everything until she can devise a solution. “I agree, that's the first thing to do.”

“I'll go with Nahara and Portia.” Dr. Satrinava lifts their hand, and Malak perches on their forearm and caws. Apparently, the raven has identified them as an ally. Smart bird. “We'll take this fellow with us.”

“Yes.” Nadia reaches out and touches Portia's shoulder. “Rescue Julian, Mira and I will find out the rest from Asra and...”

“...Muriel.” Nasmira fills in the name. How is she able to recall it so easily?

Portia nods, sniffs into her sleeve, then leans over and girds her skirt around her waist, clenching her hands into fists and steeling herself. “Follow me.”

“Wait!” Asra lurches forward and almost spills his tea across his lap. “Be careful there's a pit of plague beetles in the dungeon, if Valdemar released -” He should go with them. Bringing Ilya back to his body is easy enough, but if... He can't think of that.  _ No. _

Nazali's lips pressed into a thin line. “It would be best to destroy them whether or not Valdemar tries anything.”

Nadia steadies Asra’s hand. Her brows arch high on her forehead as she looks over at Nazali. “ _ Can _ they be destroyed?”

“I've found that fire does the trick.” Along with their knuckles, they crack a grin that reminds Asra of Ilya’s smirk when he’s concocted a particularly madcap idea. “Any accelerants handy?”

“The first priority is to retrieve Dr. Devorak. Take several of the guards with you. Destroy the beetles, and apprehend the Quaestor if you can. And please don't burn down the palace.” 

Nahara nods solemnly. “We’ve got this, Didi. You handle the rest.” 

As they leave, another person steps into the room. Tall with far away eyes, dressed in pale pink, with a small turtle perched on the top of her head. Magic pulses around her and fills the room. Asra shivers as the woman's magic pushes against his own, mapping it out the way Faust uses tiny vibrations in the air to locate prey. Chandra follows, flapping her wings then settling on the open window sill. The princess - because there’s no mistaking her for anything else - settles on the sofa and removes her mask.

“Hello, Dia. I haven’t been able to properly greet you yet.”

“Nafizah!” Nadia rises from beside Asra and sinks down next to her sister, embracing her with ease that had been absent when the other princesses arrived. And perhaps some relief. “Are Mother and Father here? Natiqa?”

“Yes. Navra is making introductions. It didn’t seem shrewd for us all to disappear immediately.” She brushes her fingers over Nadia’s hair. “We were all so delighted to receive your invitation. But what has happened now? Dear Chandra is so upset.” 

“We’ve had an incident. Well, a string of them, to be honest. Oh, I don’t know how to explain it.”

“I have had many troubling dreams, sister. For the past three years. And more frequently as of late.” Nafizah takes a cup of tea from Nasmira, folding her elegant fingers around the edge of the saucer without really seeming aware of it. “Dark things have occurred here, haven’t they?”

“Yes...” Nadia’s voice trails off. “That is an understatement.” She sits up straighter and looks around the room, falling back into formality. “Nafizah, may I present my friends Asra and -” Tiny wrinkles form around her eyes as she struggles again to remember his name.

“Muriel.” Nasmira fills in his name as she tops up Muriel's teacup then Asra’s. “This is our eldest sister. Nafizah, crown princess of Prakra.”

“All of you are here?” Asra isn’t able to manage the show of manners that he'd usually bother with for a princess.  _ All of the Prakran royalty present at the center of some devilish plot? _ If whatever the Devil intended didn’t destroy the world, the fall of the Prakran dynasty would certainly threaten it. Or maybe that’s what the Devil intended to happen.  _ Oh, this is getting worse all the time. _

Nafizah’s chin tilts down in the barest of nods, one that won’t disturb the turtle on her head. Nadia summarizes the past five years as best she can. The Red Plague, of which Nafizah is already aware, of course. The attempted ritual three years ago. Asra buries his face in Inanna’s fur as Nadia describes his role in it. Her missing memories. Ilya’s trial, hanging, and resurrection. Lucio’s reappearance and the return of the plague beetles. The disappearance of Ilya and Dema. 

“Asra -” Nadia looks over to him. “What else happened just now? Was Lucio involved?”

“He wasn't there, but he's working with - or working for the Devil. Referred to him as a patron.”

“I wish I could say I was surprised. And the deal Dema made?”

“She agreed to spend a night in the arcane realms to stop the plague from returning.” He runs his hands over Faust’s smooth body. “And to get back Faust.”

Muriel clears his throat, drawing all three princesses’ attention back to the corner. “Lucio and the Devil kidnapped her. Faust.” 

“I'm glad that Faust is safe at least. So, with this bargain Dema struck - is the plague no longer a concern?” Nadia looks almost hopeful.

“Not yet.” Muriel speaks before Asra. He always understood the nature of these bargains more clearly than Asra anyway.  _ If I had listened to him - except. _ “If she returns before morning...”

“Yes, I see. And Valdemar?”

“They still intend to complete the ritual tonight.” Asra looks down at his hands. They're shaking, just a little. “And I don’t know exactly what will come of it, if they succeed.”

Nadia’s face blanches at the idea. She gets up, takes a bottle of white wine, and drinks directly from it. “So, Lucio's ghost is not the only person interested in this ritual. The Devil and Valdemar are personally invested, and presumably get something out of it.”

“We can't let it be completed.”

“No. No, we can't. Perhaps Nahara will succeed in capturing them. But I don’t think that we can count on that. Asra, I believe Dema was right. Someone needs to research that damned book of yours.”

“Perhaps I can be of some help?” Nafizah leans forward and sets her teacup down on the table. “It might help me make sense of my dreams. Or my dreams to make sense of it.”

“Yes, I think so. Thank you, sister. Asra, I assume that you want to go to the Magician's realm yourself and find Dema and Ilya.”

“I do.”

Nadia nods once. “Let's see a few other details then.” And like that, the conversation has moved beyond him, into details of what precautionary measures could be taken without creating panic, which of the guards and staff were most trustworthy. Whether it was possible or even advisable to take the other members of the court into custody. The princesses come to an agreement between themselves. Nasmira will focus on maintaining calm at the masquerade. Nadia will watch for signs of Lucio, the Devil, or Valdemar and quietly redeploy the guard. 

Nafizah will focus on learning as much as she can about the ritual and how to interrupt or reverse it. Asra's throat knots a little when Nadia instructs him to assist her. Assist. He doesn't like the feeling of letting someone else be in charge, even though he doesn't have the damnedest idea what he should do. The princess suggests the library as the most logical place to research, and of course, she’s right. Beyond the easy access to other books, it’s quiet and the locks on the door are nothing if not impressive.

* * *

Nafizah’s movements as she settles herself into the library are ethereal to the point of uncanny. She watches as Asra and Muriel go around the room, lighting lamps and candles, and then smiles slightly when they return to where she perches on a chaise lounge with her hands folded in front of her.

“You truly do not understand what you unleashed, do you Asra?”

“I...” He looks away from her, cheeks growing warm. “I thought we’d established that by now.”

“It is not something I fully understand either.” The princess lifts her hands and gently takes her turtle down from her head, settling the small creature in her lap. “Now let me see this book.”

He pulls the volume out of Dema’s bag and hands it to her. “This isn’t the one that had the ritual in it. I don’t know where that one is.”

“Still. This was written by the same necromancer.” She doesn’t flinch at the word, or as her fingers close around the book. “It may be of some help to us.” 

“You had dreams? Have them?”

“Yes. Dark ones. But they rarely make much sense. Boundaries breaking between the realms. All things being remade in inversion.” 

While she thumbs through the text, Asra paces around the library. It feels smaller than it ever has, shelves closer together and the walls pushing in. His breathing starts to quicken, like it sometimes does when he's in the market or the square and there are two many people around, but there's only Muri and Nafizah here, but attempting to concentrate on straightening the folds of his skirt isn't helping and Faust's tongue brushing against his ear isn't enough, and...

“Asra.” A big hand closes around his shoulder and guides him to the slear section of floor under the window. He groans and collapses onto the pile of cushions he had stacked under the window years ago. Tries to breath slower, steadier. Inanna curls beside him, followed by Muriel who takes a small bag of grasses and reeds from a pocket in his shirt and begins to weave them into a charm. Protection. More than Asra can manage to do for anyone.

Nafizah clears her throat. “This is very deep magic. It has taken years - centuries probably - to approach this climax. I think, if we are to understand more of what is at stake, you will need to go to the source, Asra. Discover what the Arcana themselves may know. Once you are in their realms, you will seek out what you can.”

“I  _ have _ to find Ilya and Dema first.”

“Yes. They are involved. You bound both yourself and Dema to this affair when placed your blood and her bone in that chalice. And Ilya bound himself when he volunteered his memories of her.” 

“How do you know -?” As she spoke the words, the memory solidified itself in his mind where it has only ever been a shadow. Asra hadn't ever been sure if that detail was one other horrible thing he had actually done or just a detail in a nightmare.

“I dreamt it.” She closes the book in her lap. “I will remain here and see if a way to interrupt this ritual can be found. Muriel will protect well.” There’s a hint of an approving smile on her lips when she looks at Muriel. Her fingers run along the back of her turtle’s shell and then stroke his head as her eyes return to Asra. She blinks, very slowly. “I misspoke. You’ve sought control of your world for too long, Asra. Perhaps the answer is outside of the walls you've built. Let yourself be found.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this what you had in mind, Doni? I do think it brought enough to the table to justify the POV shift? :)


	11. Say My Name, and Every Color Illuminates - NSFW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Florence and the Machine, "Spectrum."

When I open my eyes again, the gentle crashing of the waves fills my ears. Julian still sleeps beside me. I trace my finger over his cheekbones and kiss the tip of his nose affectionately - lightly, he needs sleep. Yawning, I stretch my arms above my head and try unsuccessfully to get a better look at the tattoo over my ribs before giving up and doing back up the buttons of my blouse. With the sun up, the temperature of the beach is more appropriate.

It’s not the same beach as before. Or it is the same beach - soft, fine, faintly pink sand beneath my feet, but the palm trees are gone, replaced by gently rolling dunes. Scrubby grass pushes through loose sand at the top. Beyond them, the impressions of sunflowers bob, cheerful against the blue sky. 

I kick the sigils from the sand and walk down to the edge of the ocean. Sunlight glints off the waves as they crash onto the sand. I close my eyes for a minute, letting the sun wash over me, and the waves stroke my bare feet. Where the water was frigid the night before, it’s now warm and soft from the salt. When I open them, the current swirls against the tide. The water foams for a moment, and then turns into Asra’s curling hair. He rises out of the water, tilting his head back and drawing in a deep breath. 

Shouting for Julian, I run out into the waves and throw my arms around Asra, pressing my face to his chest and blinking back tears of relief as he runs his hands through my hair and whispers something in my ear that I don’t quite catch. Julian isn’t far behind me. I laugh as he hoists Asra up in his arms, kissing him soundly before setting him back down in the surf. Grabbing Asra’s hands, I walk backward out of the waves, pulling him after me. When I've gotten him - and his trailing gown - past the surf, I close my eyes and work the same spell I did earlier, removing the salt and water from his gown. Then I grab Julian's hand, doing the same for his soaked clothes.

Asra touches my chest, just over my heart, fingertips pressing lightly. He rests his other hand on Julian's chest, and his gaze flits back and forth between us. “You're safe. Both of you.” He leans his head and Julian's chest and slides his hand around my shoulder pulling me close. “You kept each other safe.” He sinks down onto the sand, taking us both with him. Whether sinking into relief or just into a deeper state of trepidation isn’t clear to me.

Julian wraps an arm around Asra and kisses the top of his head. “Well, mostly it was Dema keeping me safe.”

“No, Asra's right. We kept each other safe, Ilya.” I would still be caught in self-pity and loathing if Julian hadn't been with me.

“What happened? You made it here, and this doesn’t seem so bad, but where is here?”

“This isn’t the Magician’s Realm?”

Asra looks around us, then pushes his hands through his hair and shakes his head perhaps in denial or perhaps in confusion. “No? It isn’t. What  _ did _ happen?”

Julian meets my eyes over Asra’s head. Without an answer for him, I look down and intertwine my fingers with Asra’s, speaking slowly even though I doubt that a deliberate pace will help make anything clearer for any of us. “At first, we were somewhere in between. Like a void, with stars. Then, it crumbled, and we fell.” It would be easier, so much easier for him if I just left the next part out.  _ No. _ “Into the Tower.”

“The Tower?” Asra’s fingers tighten in mine and a shiver runs through him.

“But we’re okay,” Julian interjects and kisses the top of Asra’s head. Maybe to take the image away from him. “We’re alright.”

“The Tower,” Asra repeats softly. His chest begins to shake with sobs, and I’m not sure that he can feel my arms around him.

“Asra?” Julian squeezes his shoulders. “Asra, we’re okay. We’re here.”

“What is it, Asra?” The pile of blankets is only a few feet behind us, and I don’t have any better ideas than to wrap him up tightly. I tug on Asra and Julian’s hands, pulling them toward it. Asra collapses next to me, laying his head on my lap, chest still shaking from sobs. Julian kneels behind us and runs a hesitant hand over Asra's back. I'm not used to this. Asra is the strong one - the together one. “Sweetheart? What's wrong?” He doesn't respond. I run a hand through his hair and lean slightly forward while he cries as if I can shield him from all the chaos we’ve created with my body. Ilya nudges closer to me, one hand still running circles on Asra's back, and the other coming to rest on my waist.

“What do we, um, do?”

I continue stroking Asra's hair. “I think just this.”

Eventually, Asra sobs taper off. He sits up and rubs at his eyes. “A long time ago,” his voice is soft when he speaks. “The people I cared most about in the world left one morning, and they never came home. And both of you, I couldn't help you.” His chest heaves again and he leans back against Julian. “You were there, alone, for that, and I couldn’t do anything. And to think that you might not -” 

“Asra -” I want to tell him that it will be alright, that between the three of us, we’ll figure out how to get Julian and I both back to our realm. I want to tell him that, but I also don’t want to lie to him.

He picks up my hand and presses my knuckles to his lips. “I can’t lose the two of you.” He turns my hand over, then stiffens as my sleeve pulls away from my wrist, revealing the scars underneath. “How did -?”

“I don’t know. It was like here, this body remembered something of what it was.”

He pushes the sleeve further up my arm and trails his fingers over the scarred flesh. “Dema, I, I - Are you okay?”

“I had Ilya.” I run my thumb across his bottom lip before leaning forward to kiss him. “I'm alright. I'm going to be alright. At least, I’m going to try to be alright.”

When I pull away, Asra’s lips curl in a slight smile. He turns his head and presses a kiss to Julian’s throat and whispers. “You made it through. Both of you.”

Before I can say anything else, a little black cat hops into my lap. She puts her paws on my shoulder and rubs her head against my cheek, purring loudly. “Well, hello again.”

Asra laughs. “Who is this?”

“I don’t know her name.” Her back arches as I run my hand along her spine. “She was in the space between, with Julian and me. I think she was trying to help us.” The cat meows indignantly at my comment and nips my collarbone. I stroke her nose apologetically. “Yes, you’re right. You did help us.” She chirps, sounding much more content, and curls in my lap, licking a paw and washing her face. “This looked like the Magician’s realm when we arrived. And he was here.”

“He was? Did you learn anything?”

“I think he was involved in getting us out of the Tower. To wherever here is. When the Tower... broke? We fell into the ocean. A storm. A current appeared and pulled us here.”

Julian folds himself around Asra, more to comfort himself than Asra, I suspect. Asra pats his hand and looks back and forth between us with concern. “The ocean? A storm?”

“I don’t want to think about it?” Julian murmurs into Asra’s hair.

“I learned a little from the Magician. Nothing specific about what the Devil wants, other than a vague ‘everything’. Apparently, you’re key to his plans. Something about not so many people having an affinity for the Magician, so that he needed you for the ritual. I was a way to involve you.”

“I see.” Asra looks down at his hands and leans back into Julian. “And now we’re all involved.”

“I have something to do with getting us out of it. But of course, he didn’t say what.”

“Dema... I’m so sorry.”

I lift my head and look around. It’s a peaceful enough place that we’re in. Restful. Especially with a cat purring in my lap. But we can’t stay here. We have to get - well, at least, Julian and Asra have to get - back home. Back to our own reality. “So, if this isn’t the Magician’s realm, where are we?”

Asra looks around. He stretches his shoulders and passes his hand in front of him. The ball gown is replaced with simpler clothes, the kind he usually wears to travel in. “I’m not sure.” 

The cat hops out of my lap, meows at us, and swishes her tail. Julian looks up and holds out his hand to her, smiling. She butts her head against his fingers and meows again. “Well, we can follow her.” He gets up and brushes off the seat of his pants, holding a hand out.

Asra takes it and lets Julian pull him to his feet. “I admit that I don’t have a better idea.” He leans back down, and wraps his hand around mine, repeating Julian’s gesture. He wraps his arms around me and holds me close against him. “I’ll figure it out. I mean, we’ll figure it out.”

The cat leads us back over the dunes, waiting patiently while our feet fight against the sand slipping beneath them. We slip down the other side, into a field of sunflowers and young saplings, just raising their heads above the blooms, bright young leaves bursting from the wood. Julian lets his hand brush across the flowers, scattering petals down over to stick in my hair and Asra’s. 

“This type of magicky thing is not so bad.”

Asra laughs. “Something you could even get used to?”

“Maybe. Dema taught me a bit of magic even.”

“Oh really?” Asra takes a step forward, pushing aside a sunflower, and links his arm in Julian’s.

“Just something simple. A light and umm, heat spell. But it came in handy.”

Asra punches his arm playfully. “I knew you’d eventually come around.”

“Hmph. We’ll see in the long run.”

I pause to cut a lower growing sunflower, with a knife that appears in my hand when I summon it and disappears again just as quickly. The petals don’t seem quite real. More like layers of paint built up on each other than delicate vegetation. But they’re beautiful nonetheless.

“Asra -” I had forgotten in all the talk on the beach of the Tower and the Magician. “What’s going on at the Palace?”

“Oh.” Asra halts, pulling Julian to a stop next to him and looks back over his shoulder. “I don’t if it’s under control exactly. But Nadia is trying to locate Lucio and the rest of the courtiers. Her oldest sister and Muriel are in the library, trying to find some information.” 

“And Portia?” Julian’s question is an anxious gasp.

“She, Nahara, and Dr. Satrinava went to find Valdemar.”

“On their own?” The pitch of Julian's voice raises, turning the question into an exclamation, and his back straightens. 

“No. Nadi had them take some guards. Whichever ones Nahara could find on the way. They’re going to try to apprehend Valdemar.”

“Oh. I, um, hope that’s enough.” He doesn’t sound particularly convinced. I can’t blame him, not when the merest thought of Valdemar causes my skin to tighten from the sensation of nonexistent beetles crawling over it. “I guess, well, I mean, there’s not much we can do from here.”

I rub Julian’s back and press my head between his shoulder blades. “Portia is a force of nature in a tiny body.” That statement is true at least, even if I’m less certain of the next one. “And I’m sure she’ll be safe with Nahara.”

“All the Satrinava’s are powerful magicians, I think. They just don't let on.” Asra loops his arm around both of us. “They’ve got more of a chance than anyone.”

Julian mumbles something that involves the name Nazali and the words magic, never, science. Asra keeps his hand in Julian’s as he pushes through the sunflowers, following the cat. As we continue, the variety of flowers changes, colors transmuting from bright oranges and yellows to red and then violet tones. They decrease in height until Julian and Asra and - eventually - even I can see over them. The field extends beyond us, somehow wild and ordered all at once. Low growing bushes surround trees - all young and straight, but beginning to create shade. I recognize most of them - all useful plants; and I slow down more, gathering bits of medicinal herbs out of habit and handfuls of sweet-tart berries to snack on. The cat backtracks and pushes around my feet insistently, urging me forward until I let the task go.

Ahead of us, the ground falls away. The cat waits for us at the edge of the cliff. Below is a multi-colored forest of old-growth trees - jewel-toned autumn. Beyond that, rising above the leaves, a single lighthouse, the beacon visible even in the daylight.

The cat looks at me, meows again, and then leaps over the edge of the cliff. Asra and Julian exchange a concerned look, but so far, the cat has done nothing to threaten us, and nothing in these realms follows the rules of the real world. With a shrug, I step over to the edge of the cliff, ready to follow her down. 

Asra’s hand folds around my arm. “Dema.” There’s a hint of reproach in his voice.

I look back. Julian’s face is blanched even paler than usual - horrified. He catches the hand Asra isn't already holding and pulls me farther from the cliff edge and tight against his chest. “Maybe let’s see if we can find another way down.” 

I nod and fold my fingers around Julian's, repenting of frightening him. Them - Julian and Asra both have been frightened for so long. Julian maintains his grip on my hand as we walk through swaying grass along the edge of the cliff. Asra occasionally approaches the edge, peering down, and looking back at us to shake his head.

Before we can see it, I can hear the stream. It babbles along, transparent and glittering over smooth rocks. A basin collects the water in a formation that is not quite natural; although who knows what counts as natural here. Where the ground drops away, stone curves up from the sides, like the lip of a pitcher that has shattered against the ground. Water flows out of it, cascading down in a waterfall that seems larger than one that such a small stream could feed. But this is a magical realm.

In the pool, small, iridescent fish dart between glittering quartz stones. When I dip my hand in, they gather around, tiny mouths nibbling at my fingertips. I curl my hand around a slightly larger one and tickle its belly. The fish nudges against my hand. Delight, pleasure runs through me - the fish’s, my own, or both, and I can’t do anything except laugh aloud. Julian peers over my shoulder, chuckles in my ear, and kisses my shoulder. 

“Look at this,” Asra calls out. “I think I found a way down.”

Julian dries my hand on the hem of his shirt, and we join Asra at the edge of the waterfall. Fine, cool spray coats my face as I look down. Below, what first appears to be rock formations jut out the side of the cliff, but when Asra hesitantly steps over and places a foot on one, it gives just a little beneath feet. Not stone then. Some sort of mushroom, taking advantage of the mist created by the waterfall. He holds out his hands to Julian. “Here, let’s see if it’ll hold weight.”

Julian kneels and grasps Asra’s wrists firmly. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“You’ll catch me if it doesn’t. Right?” Asra drops his other foot over the side and grins when the mushroom doesn’t give beneath him. He jumps up and down and laughs aloud as he shifts his waist from his heels to the balls of his feet. “I think it’s sturdy enough.” As Julian lets go of his arms, he hops down to the next mushroom. “Come on. Race you down.”

Julian watches me as I roll myself over the edge of the cliff and land on my back. The surface of the mushroom is delightfully springy beneath me, and I can’t stop myself from giggling as I get to my feet and follow Asra’s lead. Julian’s shaking his head when I pause on the second mushroom cap and look up at him. But soon enough he’s bounding down the fungi stairway with excited laughs, gaining on Asra, then beating us to the ground below by leaping over the last three mushroom caps. He reaches up for us, wrapping hands around our waists in turn and lifting us down.

“Okay, okay.” Still holding me, he kisses my forehead then closes his lips over mine before setting me down. “That  _ was _ fun.” 

I’m not surprised to see the cat sunning herself on a stone beside the pool at the bottom of the waterfall. She looks us over, then twists around to lick her spine before scrambling up a tree and curling up in the fork of two branches. Her eyes blink closed, and her little chest rises and falls, falling asleep with an ease that I usually only see in Asra.

“Well, she doesn’t look like she’s going anywhere.” Julian jumps from the rocks to the leaf-littered ground beneath the trees. “Let’s explore a bit. We don’t have to go far.”

Asra turns to me, one side of his mouth pulled up in a smile. “Sounds fun.”

“What about time? I know it’s not the same here as in our realm, but -” 

Asra settles his hands on my shoulders. “I’m pretty confident we have time. Haven’t you figured out whose realm we’re in?”

“I -” The glowing lighthouse at the center and the fanciful garden-like quality of the forest, and that strange formation at the waterfall, as if it was being poured from a jar. “The Star?”

“I think so. Reprieve - regathering strength after the Tower - those are the qualities of the Star. Rest.” He leans over and kisses me, then pulls away, dashing past Julian into the trees. “Catch me if you can.”

I’m at a disadvantage, but with longer legs and a history of running from the guard, it’s easy enough for Julian to catch up and tackle him, sending them both tumbling into a sun-dappled clearing between the trees. He straddles Asra's waist and leans over him, pressing kisses to his face and then his neck as Asra raises his hands and buries them in Julian's hair with a purr. "Mmm. You win. Or I do. I don't care." His hands slid down the back of Julian's neck and over his chest and sides before digging into his hips. Julian's hands rush to undo the buttons of Asra's shirt, then his, pulling it off and tossing it to the side.

I drop beside them in the soft grass, laying on my side and trailing my fingers over Asra's face. He lifts his head and catches the tip of one between his teeth, moaning as the fastening of his trousers come loose in Julian's fingers. “Snakebite?” Asra grins as I run my thumb over his bottom lip then lean it, replace it with my lips, my tongue. He moans into my mouth, harder than can be explained by a kiss, and when I glance down his body, Julian's lifting his head from Asra's cock, grinning broadly and licking his lips before closing them around Asra again and sinking down.

One of Asra's hands curls into my hair, and Julian pushes the hem of my shirt up to kiss the soft flesh at the side of my waist. The tip of his nose brushes further up my side, then he flips me over onto my back, awkwardly disentangling his legs from Asra's as he pushes my sweater up and over my head, then kisses back down my chest and stomach, undoing the buttons that hold my blouse together as he goes. Asra's lips find my shoulder, then the top of my breast where the head of the phoenix tattoo rests. “I'd forgotten how much I do like this tattoo,” he murmurs in my ear, then catches the lobe between his teeth. He's divested himself entirely of clothes, skin warm against mine, sunlight heightening the golden tones.

Julian has one hand on Asra's cock and he's undoing the buttons down the fly of my trousers with the other and it should be illegal to have hands that skillful.  _ Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh. Yes _ .  _ Illegal. _ I lift my hips and let him tug my pants and underthings away, fold one leg up and let it drop to the side so his clever hands, clever mouth have more access, better access. Tilt my head to the side with a moan as my fingers drift down, curl for a moment in his hair. He pauses, lifts his head, kisses my fingertips then curls my hands around Asra's cock, velvety and slick and hardening beneath the strokes of my hand. Asra's lips migrate to my breast, tongue circling my nipple then closing around it, with a hand toying at my other breast. I whine and try to keep some sort of pace with my hand, but it's hard, so very hard, with the swirl of sensations hitting me.

Asra laughs and his mouth brushes across my collarbone. “You'd blush even prettier if I told you how many times I've fantasized about something like this.” Soft lips press against mine. “So many variations.” Tongue dragging along my throat. “You laid out in the sun, of course. Or tied up and blindfolded with red silk and Ilya to do whatever I say because I don't have enough hands to do all that I want.”

My breath hitches into a gasp even if the idea only half registers. “Promise?”

“Oh, my love...” His lips travel back down my chest and his hips roll, thrusting himself against my palm. “I'm only getting started.”

Julian's fingers dig into my thighs, tongue running over me, then pressing in deeper as I twist my fingers deeper into his hair and try to keep enough of my mind together to pass some of what I feel along to Asra. Asra purrs against my neck and grinds himself against my hip bone. “Don’t worry about me, sweetheart.” He curls a hand around my cheek and pulls my lips to his, running his tongue over them, and lower, lower, Julian’s lips brush over, then curl around me, and my legs curl around his shoulders, tighter, tighter, and then everything releases all at once.

When the ground is real beneath me again, Julian’s head rests on my stomach and my fingers are stroking lightly through his hair. Asra sits beside me, stroking my cheek with one hand and himself with his other. He smiles down at me and brushes a finger over my lips before tweaking a lock of Julian’s hair. 

“Clothes off, Ilya.” Asra chuckles as he watches Julian falling over himself to comply. Strokes my still trembling stomach, then my sex, lightly at first then dips his fingers in deeper gathering up the slickness there, then slipping that hand between his own legs, starting to work himself open. Julian, exposed and erect, stares at him with eyes that have gone huge. Asra moves like a cat once he feels ready, straddling Julian and pushes his shoulders down to the ground. “I want you inside me, Ilya.” He presses their mouths together before Julian has a chance to stammer out a response. 

I'm still breathing hard as I prop myself up on my elbows. Asra licks Julian's fingers, still a mess from me, and guides them between his legs, groaning as Julian takes over working him open and murmuring half coherent praises in between sucking bruises onto Julian's neck and collarbone. I roll onto one side, close enough to reach out and touch them if I want and stroke myself lightly, dreading out the remains of my own orgasm. Asra straightens up and smoothes the plans of his hands across Julian's stomach. “That's good, love, that's perfect.” He lines Julian up and sinks slowly into him, pulling a moan from Julian's lips. 

Asra moves slowly at first, grinding against Julian, then he tosses his head back and increases his pace. Julian groans aloud then bites his lip. I reach out and run my fingers over his face, pulling his lip from between his teeth, only to catch it between mine. “I can do that so much better, honey.” His eyelids flutter, and I run my hand over his chest and down his stomach, digging my nails in, just a little. “You're so beautiful.” I sink my teeth into the place where his shoulder and neck meet. “So lovely.” I close my hand around Asra and stroke him, matching the rhythm to their movements. Asra comes with a gasp spilling across my arm and Julian's chest, rolls to the side, and wraps his fingers around Julian's cock to finish him. Julian smothers his cry in my hair and lets his head drop back onto the ground, chest heaving as his breath catches up with him. 

We're a sticky laughing mess as we stumble back to the pool at the base of the waterfall, clutching clothes against us and trusting that some spell can be worked out to clean them up. The cat looks up from her nap, and as cats tend to do with the vagaries of human behavior, ignores us to wash her face. Julian surveys the water just long enough to gauge the depth then leaps from a stone, plunging underneath, rising a moment later, and pushing his hair back from his face. “It's perfect, darlings.”

Asra backs down a sloping bank and into the water, holding my hands. The pool is cool, but not cold and the sand beneath my feet is grounding without being gritty and when Asra falls back into the water, I let myself fall with him.

The pool is deeper than it appeared at first. Asra can stand, but I tread water to keep my head up and trade caresses with him. Julian swims laps around us, kicking gleefully, and then settles down and stands behind Asra, running his hands in slow circles over his chest and nuzzling at his neck. No tension creases their faces, and I don’t have tightness in my jaw or shoulders to be massaged away. Just languid, pleasurable touch. Asra tilts his head back on Julian’s shoulder and lets himself float, legs tangled in mine and holding me against him, Julian steadying us both in the water.

“We can’t just stay here forever, can we?” he whispers.

Asra bats his eyes open, then closes them again with a sigh and a little shake of his head. “I tried once. When I was very young. Even in one of the realms, you start to lose yourself, slowly. Humans aren’t meant to be here. At least, not the living. Not when we’re still tied to our world.” He shifts around and plants his feet back on the sand at the bottom of the pool. “No.” His arms shake, just a little - as if the water has gotten just a bit chillier around us - when he pulls me close. Asra’s lips press against my forehead then he lets me go and turns back to Julian, grabbing his hands. “We can’t stay.”

Asra backs slowly out of the pool. The light in his eyes has lowered, turning them from amethyst to violet. Julian follows, looping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me back into the shallows. On the bank, Asra holds out his hands, conjuring large, soft towels to wrap us in. He kicks our clothing into the water and holds his hands over it, swirling it around and letting suds form, work through the cloth, then flow away with the water.

Julian sprawls out in a sunny patch of grass, arms stretched out. He lifts his head and forces a grin at me before patting the space beside him. In the tree, the cat trills at me then lays her head down on her folded paws and closes her eyes again. Maybe not forever, but that sleepy little gesture seems to be permission to stay just a little longer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That took.... bloody forever. And ended up being a little more bittersweet than sweet, but that's just how I roll.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me. Hopefully I can sort out the hot mess that is the draft of the next chapter in short order. :)


	12. Walk Along the Stream, Your Head Caught in a Waking Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from The Fleet Foxes, "Your Protector"

I’m warm from the sun and drowsing with my head on Julian’s chest when I feel something warm, and wet, and  _ not a kiss _ on the back of my neck. A lick? “Asra, what are you -” My question is cut off by bright laughter to my right and the rumble of contented purring next to my ear. I raise my hand to my shoulder and a rough little tongue licks my fingers. The cat. Of course.

“Why hello there, princess.” His prior morose mood gone, Asra giggles and gently scoops the cat off my back, holding her against his bare chest and shoulder. “Did you decide our break was over? Time to move on?”

“Cats,” Julian grumbles as he half sits up. “No fucks to give.” Grumbles aside, he stretches out his arm and scritches the cat behind the ears, before reaching up and tucking Asra’s hair behind his ears. It isn’t clear if the cat or Asra is purring louder.

“Nope.” I sit up and look around me for my clothes. “No fucks.”

Asra presses his face into the cat’s fur, muffling another bout of laughter. My blouse is within arm’s reach, laid out on another smooth river rock to dry in the sun. I do the buttons up the front while Julian and Asra are both petting the impertinent little cat. “Are you sure she decided our break was over?” I stand up long enough to hop back into my pants and then drop back onto the ground beside Asra. The cat turns her head to me and hops into my lap. I stroke her head and stroke her back. “She seems more interested in attention.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” Asra leans over to kiss my cheek then turns his attention to gathering his own clothes, tossing Julian’s shirt into his lap in the process. 

Julian shrugs into his shirt and runs his hands through his hair, which immediately falls back into his face. A breeze blows leaves - the same shade as the hair that it lifts from Julian’s red eye - around us. It’s crisp - and cool - and I reach for my abandoned sweater, earning an indignant meow from the cat as she hops out of my lap. Asra kneels behind me and pulls my hair from the collar, combing his fingers through the tangles and working it into a messy braid.

“I think that’s our signal that it’s time to move on.” He stands up with a sigh and offers me a hand. I close my fingers around his and let him pull me to my feet and then pull me against his chest and knead my shoulders. I can feel his heart beating in his chest. 

Julian struggles with his boots once again, but once they’re on, he hops to his feet and rolls his shoulders. “Right then. So what next?”

“The dragon slaying, I think.” Asra sounds entirely serious as he lets me go and quickly pulls on his clothes. 

I glance back over my shoulder. Julian’s grey eyes have gone wide, brows arched above them. “Dragonslaying? We, um, need to slay a dragon?”

“To be honest, I don’t know.” Asra kisses the top of my head and steps away from me. He pats Julian’s cheek and links an arm in his. “But it’d make quite the tale to dine out on, wouldn’t it?”

“Mmmm... I guess it would.” Julian doesn’t look at all convinced. 

I can’t help laughing, but I hear a touch of nerves in my voice. At this point, I wouldn’t be shocked to run into a dragon, or something equally nasty. “We’ll handle it. Or at least go down swinging. Right?”

The cat meows enthusiastically and butts against my leg before prancing to Julian and batting at the feathers hanging off his coat. “Right. Yeah.” He looks down at the cat. “Time to go?” She chirps at him and saunters off into the forest. Julian follows her into a narrow path between the trees, talking nervously to the cat, or perhaps to himself. “Anyway, more likely to be lions and tigers and bears.”

“Oh my.” Asra lets go of his arm and reaches back for my hand.

I’m grateful for my sweater soon enough; it’s cooler under the trees. Chilly enough that even Julian does up most of the buttons on his shirt. The light filtering through the leaves above fades gradually until we can barely see the black cat and have to follow the rustles of her passage through the undergrowth. Julian trips over a fallen branch and curses loudly as Asra catches him.

“Maybe we should stop for the night.”

There’s a soft meow and a nudge at my ankles. I lean over and try to pick up the cat, but she leaps out of my arms and swishes her tail. “She wants us to keep going.”

Asra holds up his hands. Light pulses around his fingers, but doesn’t form into the expected luminescent ball. “That’s odd.” He tries again. Nothing. “I don’t like this. Ilya’s right. We should stop until it’s day again.”

The cat paws at my leg. She’s holding a branch that should be too big for her to carry in her mouth and looking up at me. I reach down and take it from her. It’s a whip-thin sapling, budding out despite the autumnal condition of the realm. As I lift it, the tip flares to life, glowing brightly. Enough to see by, if not enough to see well. The cat sounds approving when she meows at me again.

Something passes through me as I straighten up. Some unfamiliar feeling. Surety? Confidence? Whatever it is, it pushes aside any anxiety about walking through the dark forest. I extend my free hand to Asra and Julian. “This will do.”

“Are you sure?” Julian doesn’t sound convinced. I can just make out his profile as he turns slowly around, peering into the darkness. “Dema, I really don’t think - there’s not even a path to follow, darling.”

“There’s the cat.” The cat and whatever it is I feel pulling me forward.

Asra holds out his hands in front of him trying and once again failing to summon a light. He looks down at the cat, shaking his head. “I don’t know if I trust -” he pauses. “Something is wrong. I can't use my magic. Besides, trying to follow a black cat at night.”

As many times as Asra has wandered away from me with little warning and no itinerary, he hardly has any ground to complain about the lack of a clear path. Besides, we may not have a path, but we do have a guide. “Then trust me.”

Asra and Julian exchange a look. They’re quiet for so long that I fear that I might have to walk away and hope that they follow me. Then finally, Julian reaches out and closes his fingers around mine. Asra’s lips part slightly as his gaze shifts to my eyes. I nod at him and lift the branch in my hand, just a little. It's a light. Not much, but something to guide. Asra shakes his head, but he takes Julian’s other hand. “Let’s just try not to lose each other.” 

The cat is careful not to leap too far ahead of us, staying just within the glow of the branch - or I suppose, wand - I’m holding out in front of us. She stops several times though, and grooms herself, clearly impatient with our slow progress.

Gradually, the branches over our heads thin out to reveal a sky filled with unfamiliar stars and galaxies. Clouds cover over a moon hanging so low that part of me believes that I could reach out and touch it. But I'd have to let go of Julian's hand to try. And I'd rather keep his fingers and mine intertwined. Ahead, the lighthouse is a dark outline against the starry sky. At its zenith, a bright beacon pulses in greeting. In welcome. I hope. 

The cat prances through a heath covered meadow and down to the shore of a lake. Gentle waves push against the sand, and crickets and frogs fill in the rest of the music. A pier juts out - not to the lighthouse itself, but to a small boat moored beside it. The moon above is bright enough that the staff in my hand isn’t necessary to see. The cat bounds about halfway down the pier then turns herself around and plops down and starts to groom herself yet again. Declaring another rest?

Asra touches my shoulder and speaks softly, “I should have trusted you.”

“We made it.”

“Yes, yes we did.” He slips his sandals off his feet and walks down to the edge of the water, dipping his toes in and disturbing a frog. Phosphorescence trails after it, as it launches itself through the air and into the lake, and then marks its path through the water.

“Hmmm.... must not be many predators around here.” Julian rubs the back of my neck. “Do you think we’re supposed to take that boat out to the lighthouse?”

“I guess so.”  The lighthouse is calling, and I see no other way forward. But Asra...

By the edge of the water, he sits down on the edge of a smooth stone and dangles his feet in the water, shoulder slumping pensively. Fireflies gather around him and settle, twinkling languidly, in his hair like stars in a cloud. He holds out his hand. A tiny frog leaps onto it and begins to chirp out a simple song. It should be a serene scene, but Asra’s mood has settled over it, dampening any cheer.

Julian’s hands still on my shoulder, and he leans over to press his lips to the top of my head. “What do you think is wrong?”

“I’m not sure.” Watching where I place my feet on the stones at the edge of the water, I go to him. My movement startles the frog sitting on Asra’s hand and several others still hiding in the rushes. They leap into the water with a series of splashes and at least one indignant croak. Settling next to Asra on the stone, I lay the staff also my lap and curl my fingers in his. He turns his head to me, eyes downcast. The fireflies alight from his hair, spiraling into the darkness above him. With a sigh, he watches them go then leans his head against my shoulder. “It’s rather lovely here.” Nothing in his tone of voice matches the statement.

“What’s wrong,  _ dorogoi _ ?” Julian settles behind us, stretching out his legs and looping an arm around Asra. 

“It’s nothing. Just a mood that will pass.” 

“Asra, no more secrets - you promised.” I roll the shoulder he’s resting his head on, getting him to sit back up straight. “I can’t trust you unless you start telling me things.”

He holds out his hand again. Fireflies spin around the space above his palm but refuse to land. His chest falls with a heavy exhale, and he closes his fingers and draws his hand back to his chest. “I have no control here. No real knowledge. I can't protect you. Not like this... Not here. And I can’t -  _ I can't _ \- lose you.”

“What makes you think you'll lose us?” 

Julian's question is meant as a reassurance, but it seems silly to me. Asra has lost us before. Lost others before us, even if that is one other subject he’s never permitted himself to talk about. “You're a survivor, Asra.”

“Dema.” He holds out his hand, beckons with his fingers, but once again the fireflies ignore his call. “My love, my heart - I don't know if I have enough of me left to survive again.”

I grab his hand and press it to my chest. “I'm not lost, Asra. I don't mean I know where we're going - but, if we stop now, we're all lost.”

His eyes meet mine for a long moment, then - without a word - he lets his head drop against my chest. Julian follows, head on my shoulder and one hand running over Asra's back. And despite my confident words, I don't know if I can support them both. 

Then the cat hops up on my other shoulder. She can't weigh much, but - “Okay, okay you two - three -”

Asra lifts his head. He's forcing a smile again, and Julian wraps his arms around me and pulls me into his lap. The cat digs her claws into my shoulders then hops down and bats at Asra's hand. Time to go.

“Julian, do you think you can manage that boat.”

“Pshaw. That little thing? Of course, I can manage it!”

“Good.” I run my hand down the cat's spine. She twists about and pushes her nose against my hand. “We're headed to the lighthouse.” 

We glide easily across the still water of the lake. Julian hops to a small dock built out from the base of the lighthouse. He ties up the boat and extends his hand to Asra, to me. The cat leaps out on her own and scratches at the door, tiny paws flying until I pull it open. Beyond a staircase curves up into the lighthouse.

The little black cat runs ahead of us, leaping up the stairs, tail held high in anticipation. Julian holds tight to my hand, and I return the grip, walking close to him. The rise of the spiraling stairs recalls the Tower, and the fragile glow of lamps along the wall isn’t enough to dispel the resemblance. At least, they aren’t enough to quell the anxiety building in the base of my skull.

At the end of the turns, the stairs open into a brightly lit room centered around an astrarium. A woman draped in clinging, sheer white steps out from behind the orrery. She bends down to scoop up the cat, shining hair falling about her shoulders. She presses her face into the soft fur, then looks up at us with a gentle smile on her face. 

“Welcome.” She arches an eyebrow. “I take it that you enjoyed the scenic route.”

“Yes, well -” Julian runs his hands over his face. “Sorry about that, I, uh -”

The Star - because the woman can’t be anything else - moves across the room too fast for my eye to catch and leans her face close to Julian’s. “Ilya, why do you apologize for something that is not a problem, much less something for which you are at fault?” The cat jumps from her arms and rubs against Julian’s legs, purring loudly. “That is the purpose of my realm. To rest. To regain your inner light before the task to which you have been called.” 

“You are the Star then.” Asra inclines his head to the woman. “I am honored.”

“It is my pleasure to greet you.” A flicker of light and she’s in the center of the room again, pacing around the orrery and trailing her hand over the metal that forms it. “All of you passed through the Tower in your own way; although, you still have much to learn.” She pauses in front of me and leans down, staring straight into my eyes with a gaze that shifts through the colors of the rainbow. “Brave, reckless Dema, are you ready? Once you start down this path, you can’t give up, not unless you are willing to abandon the universe.”

My hand shakes as I clutch at Julian’s steadier one, and Asra’s hands close around my shoulders. Even the cat rubs her head against my legs in support. It isn’t enough. “What do you mean?”

“Are you ready to confront the Devil?” Her tone and her face are far too serene for the words that leave her mouth. “If you aren’t, if you falter, it would be better if you never start at all. He will avoid creating one like you in the future.”

“One like me?” An unnatural homunculus? Something less than human.

“No.” She touches my chin as though she heard the words that I didn’t speak aloud. “One more than human, and yet still so very human. Asra -” She straightens up and holds her hands in front of her, palms together. Shimmering cards fly between her hands as she arcs them out in front of her. “What is the nature of the Devil?”

He hesitates for a moment. “Not trickery, that’s only the means, not the end. It’s power, domination.”

“Yes. He seeks to master all things. To rule over them. He can’t help it, it simply is who and what he is. But that doesn’t mean that I wish for him to succeed. That would violate the nature of other principalities of the universal. And so he must be checked - balanced by his opposite.” The cards disappear from her hands, replaced by an abacus. She toys absently with the counters. “And who is the opposite of the Devil?” 

Asra’s eyes flick to me. They widen, then his brows crease together as his hand tightens on my shoulder. “The Fool.”

“And when you brought Dema back from the dead, whose position was she in?”

Before he can reply, my lips form the answer to her question. “The Fool.”

“Yes. And so now is one of the few times that we have a hope of checking the Devil. And you, Dema, are that hope. The power of the Fool is special. They are undirected by nature and can not truly act unless a human stands in their place. Directs their nature, their essence.”

“But why? How am I so special? Certainly, there are others who can access the Fool’s power.” I’m trembling, but despite my protest, I haven’t said no. Even if I want to - and I very, very much want to - I started this path to save Julian, then to prevent the plague from returning to the city, and certainly whatever the Devil has planned would be far worse. 

“Yes and no. The Fool is the most universal of us. All humans have something of the Fool’s energy acting within them. But few enough have access to the Fool’s essence. Their attachment to their selves - temporal, finite - blocks them from such. But you, Dema - you already lost yourself. In death, you experienced the essential nature of the Fool - universal, infinite, unlimited. Perhaps it was even how you died. Remaining for an idea bigger than yourself, trying to the end to aid others. And in the ritual that brought you back, something of the Fool’s true nature remained, even as your soul and your body were reunited.”

“How do I counter the Devil? He can trick me - no, he did trick me! Just like any other human.”

“He did. You acted as a person, bound by your own desires and fears, your limited knowledge. In that way, you are as subject to him as any other mortal would be.”

“So what do I do then? How can I stop the Devil?” 

Silence fills the room. With my questions, I’ve agreed in a way, to this terrible, marvelous idea and the weight of it crashes into my stomach, my lungs, my bones. The single bright star is replaced in my vision by a thousand tiny ones and the muscles holding me upright start to give. Julian catches my arm before I can fall and pulls me into a tight embrace. I hear him whispering in my hair, in his mother tongue. It sounds like the denials I want to say myself. 

The Star gazes into her orrery as if the light itself will provide an answer. “I’m sorry.” She shakes her head. “If I knew the how, I would tell you. It is my nature, after all, to prepare you for what lies ahead. But I only know the why.”

Why? Why is fine and well and good for philosophy. For thinking back later, trying to understand, but right now, we don’t need that, we need to act. “The Magician said that the Devil needed Asra more than anyone else - what did he mean?”

“Normally, we Arcana can’t act in your world without a human conduit, a person who connects with our natures. Julian is such for the Hanged Man, and Asra for the Magician.”

“But the Devil was in our world!”

“I know.” Her full lips press together. “It is an aftereffect of the magic that brought you back from the dead. The boundaries between the realms remain - for the most part - but the Devil is now able to move in the space between realms and into yours.”

“Wait! If the Devil can’t replace me - at least, not easily - couldn’t I just refuse?” Asra steps closer to me, reaches over, and touches his curled fingers to my cheek. “Then Dema wouldn’t have to -”

“If you can refuse. All those involved before are now bound to it. I doubt you would be able to. No matter how far you run.” She holds out her hands to Asra. When they open, the compass that he had earlier today, the one that led him to whatever was left of my body - my first body - is in her hands. “You can aid her, Asra. But you never could and will never be able to take her place.”

“I’m just... human. And not a very good one at that.”

The Star lifts one eyebrow in skepticism. She leans over, and the cat leaps back into her arms. “And yet, without you - even with all your flaws - the essence of the Fool would be impotent. Directionless, unfocused.”

“So what is it then? Do I need to be myself? Or lose myself?”

“Both.” The Star and the cat blink. Synchronized. It isn’t comforting.

“So let me get this straight.” Julian’s arms are still around me, still holding me up. “The Devil can’t bind Dema to him, except when he can - when she’s being... herself?”

His summary only reiterates how mad this scenario is.

The Star laughs. “I know that it is complicated. Think of it as having two natures - human and arcanum. As a human, she can be bound. As the Fool, she can not be.”

“I... I don’t know if that helps.” Julian shifts his weight back and forth and presses his mouth to the top of my head. His arms catch me as I lean forward.

“But I’m still only  _ one _ person!”

The Star blinks at me, just as slowly as a cat. “Yes, a single person.”

“And you expect one person to fight the Devil alone?” Asra’s eyes flash with anger. Here, in this realm, it’s an actual flash, red-violet and frightening, for all his complaints that he has no power here. “That’s not... It’s too dange -”

“- rous?” The Star finishes for him. “Is it any more dangerous than bringing someone back from the dead? Besides, she will not be alone. You and Ilya are part of what ties her to the human. She will not succeed without you.”

The light of the orrery pulses behind her. Softly once, then it explodes out behind her. Her hair streams around her face, and then the blinding light crashes into us, pushing us backward. Backward and out into some other place. Some other realm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, and now on to completely switching around the moon, because you know, Asra needs to process some childhood trauma.


	13. I Had to Consult Some Figures of the Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from John Frusciante, "Going Inside"

The light fades until it is a warm glow gently filtering through white canvas above our heads. My back rests against the curved side of a small, gently rocking boat. Asra rubs at his eyes, blinking furiously and trying to readjust to the rapid changes in illumination. Julian just groans and tosses an arm over his. Beyond seagulls call out. Just seagulls at first, joined by the soft heaves of ways, and then a woman’s voice.

“Ilya? Ilyusha? Gde ty?”

“Mother?” Julian’s eyes snap open. He twists upright, shoves aside the canvas, and flips over the side of the boat before Asra or I can grab him. The expected splash doesn’t follow his tumble, just a hollow thud as Julian lands on something sturdy and wooden. Asra rolls up onto his knees and pushes the canvas out of the way, just enough to peer out. Hissing a warning to remain quiet, he beckons me to join him.

“Mama, ya zdyes’!” Julian’s voice is... different - a boy’s unbroken tones. There’s a woman on deck, tall and willowy with auburn hair flowing around her shoulders. She has a baby tied to her hip with a heavily embroidered shawl, rich colors that match the clothes that a little boy with curling red hair wears. His arms are thrown about her waist and he presses his head against her belly. 

“Illusha, shto eto? Pochemu ty plakayesh?”

“Mama, ty zhiv!”

“Zhiv? Konechno -”

There’s a loud crack and the entire ship lurches to the side. Sheets of rain replace the sun and wind violently whips the woman’s hair about her face. With a shudder and groan the ship falls apart around us.

***

My fingers can barely close around the grapevine. The rough bark scrapes at my palms and I hope that it holds tight to the branches above me. This is a good vine. Attached to a tree on a steep slope with a relatively clear space to swing forward and back without crashing into another tree. I laugh aloud, more of a whoop really, and my skirts fly behind me as I said through the air, past the point where I could set my feet down and stop the motion - 

“Agnes! Agnes! Mama is still waiting for you to get back with the water. Agnes!”

That voice? The vine gives way at the peak of its arc. I curl in on myself ready to roll when I hit the ground, but two strong arms catch me.

“Gotcha, darling.” The velocity carries us both back and with a splash, Julian and I land in a shallow stream. I’m in my heavy sweater and trousers again, not the light pinafore and bare knees of a moment ago. No rough vine clutched in my hands. And mama is definitely not still waiting for the water. 

The forest dissolves so quickly that it ghosts in my vision over the steep cliffs of sandstone that replace it. I hear the name, my name one more time, shouted in irritated tones: _Dema Agnes!_ Hot sunlight reflects from the rock into my eyes, and I shake my head, trying to clear the confused into one or the other. Asra kneels by the side of the stream and holds out his hand to me. I let him pull me up, then strip off my sweater as he helps Julian to his feet.

“Did you hear that voice?” I fidget with my hair, trying to somehow twist it up and off my neck.

Asra nods solemnly. “I heard it.” He reaches in a pocket and offers me a bit of string. I take it from him and tie my hair back, looping it on itself so that it’ll stay off my neck and trying to grin a little. It’s hard when I can’t quite place a name on the voice I heard.

“I did too.” Julian looks around and rubs his head. “His clothes are drying already, as are mine. And um, before that - did you?”

“Yes -” Asra takes his hand again and rubs his thumb over Julian’s knuckles. “The ship, earlier, was that -?”

“My mother.” Julian shivers despite the heat, and Asra wraps his arms around him from behind. “That was her ship, her and my father’s - we were, they were merchants. Until that storm. The first time I got on a ship again, I froze. Completely. It was with Maz and she had to haul me back off the ship and down to the dock. Send me home with Pasha and Lilenka.”

“Oh, Ilya.”

“It was embarrassing, but I don’t think I would have made it out of the harbor. Anyway, that was a long time ago.” He combs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. “Dema, did you - what did you see?”

“A forest. I was little. Swinging on a vine.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and rub my temples. There’s the barest hint of a headache forming, but nothing excruciating. At least, not yet. “Someone was calling my name. Another girl. Something about mother still waiting for me to bring the water.”

Asra looks at me over Julian’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” I roll my shoulders. “Yeah, I think so.”

Asra’s eyebrows push together. He’s not sure if he believes me. Maybe I don’t believe myself, but now hardly seems like the right time to stop and try to sort out my thoughts and feelings. 

Julian steps out of Asra’s arms, stretches his arms and jumps a little to loosen his legs back up. “Where are we?”

“I don’t know.” Asra fumbles in his pocket and extracts the compass the Star gave him - the same compass as from the Lazaret. It looks desperately mundane to be such a terrible little lump of metal. Did the Star mean for us to use it as a guide? If so, I think I’d rather have the little black cat back to show which way to go.

“So, what -” I hold my hand out, trying to stop my fingers from trembling as I touch the compass in his hands. It’s just metal and enchantment. It shouldn’t feel like a threat. “Does this compass do?”

“Well, it doesn’t point north - if north even applies here.” Asra runs his fingers over the dented surface and flips open the lid. “It points toward your heart’s desire. So, if I want nothing more than to defeat the Devil and get you safely back in a body in our realm, I suppose it will guide us in that direction.”

“Unless our feline friend shows back up, I suppose that’s what we have to go on.” Julian takes off his feathered jacket and tosses it over one shoulder. He looks around, holding up a hand to shade his eyes from the sun. “Um, Asra, is it possible to sunburn here.”

Asra looks up from peering at his compass and dimples appear at the corners of his mouth. “Don’t believe that is possible, and it shouldn’t happen.”

“Umm...okay...”

I trace the spell I usually use to keep from getting sunburned over my cheeks and then reach up and do the same to Julian’s even paler face. It may not be necessary here, but I still feel reassured by casting it. “That should work. How did you ever survive on a pirate ship?”

“Uh, really wide-brimmed hats.”

“Oh. That I would like to see.” The image that comes to my mind is Julian in an oversized, floppy straw hat, adorned with a sunflower. I can even picture Mazelinka keeping some sort of flower on hand for him, even on a ship. 

“Okay, Asra -” Julian loosens the last few buttons of his shirt. “Which way is this compass pointing us?”

As Asra points to the right, the ground beneath our feet shakes. I throw my arms around Julian and hang on to him. With a loud groan, a massive black tree erupts from the horizon reaching up into the blue sky above.

“That’s... umm... that’s not ominous at all.” 

“Not at all.” Asra holds out his hands. His grim expression turns to a smile when a canteen appears in his palms - his magic working for him again. He bends down and fills it from the stream, holding the corner of his shawl over the mouth to filter the water. “But it seems to be the thing we need to go toward.” He slings the canteen over his shoulder and begins to scramble up the dry stones that form the bank. 

Julian steps over the stream. He looks back at me and holds out his hand. I take it and allow him to steady me as I hop over the stream and land on the loose rubble on the other side. Asra’s right. There’s no other lead to follow.

The approach to the tree takes both more time and less time than it should. The rocky ground beneath our feet turns to sand that drags against our steps, yet the tree grows larger and larger on the horizon. Its massive roots crack the dry earth beneath and bare branches thrust into the air, piercing the blue of the sky. No, not bare - in place of leaves, the branches are draped with heavy iron chains.

Julian dabs at his face with the shirt he stripped off some time ago. “What is that monstrosity?”

“I don’t know.” Asra digs the canteen out of his bag and takes a sip before handing it to Julian. He holds out his hands, sending the barest wisp of magic out to explore the space around the tree. 

Something golden glints between two of the roots and catches my eye. It reminds me a little of Muriel’s hut in the woods outside of Vesuvia. If it were dreadful instead of homey. “Is that a door?” 

“Huh?” Julian hands me the canteen, the metal surface, and the contents are cool from a spell. Pity those tend to be limited in the amount of space they can cover. He shades his eyes with his hand and peers out. “I think it is.”

Asra closes his hands around the wisp as it returns to him. “It’s safe enough if we stay out of reach of the chains. Let’s go have a look.” Asra takes the canteen from me and offers it to Julian again before tucking it back into his bag.

As we get closer, the chains begin to sway like vines and strain toward us. They glow an angry red, pulsating more heat into the already parched air. Behind them, the flash of gold is indeed a door. Now, I can see the door clearly. It’s massive iron fixed between the roots of the trees and embellished with fanciful gold tracings. As we reach the edge of the chains’ limit, the door is tantalizingly close, so close that it seems that with a quick enough moment, I could dart beyond the chains and reach it. Fling it open and see what's beyond. Like he read my thoughts, Asra grabs my arm. I look back at his concerned face and roll my eyes at him.

“Even I can tell running at that is a bad idea.” Just a tempting one. Something important lies beyond. I know it.

“Maybe there’s a safer approach from a different side?” Julian peers up at the chains, studying how they connect to and drape from the branches. “At least, we might get a better idea of how these work.”

The chains creak and groan as we walk the perimeter, wrapping themselves about the tree as they follow our movements. Julian stops and frowns at the rusted links. He has the same look on his face that he did when tossing his boots around the Tower. “Asra, Dema keep walking for a moment.” He remains in his place; Asra and I continue on a few paces, looking back over our shoulders. Some of the chains have remained where Julian is standing, stretching toward him. Others have followed us. Julian claps his hands together. There’s the same light in his eyes as when his boots confirmed his theory about the Tower looping the space and time around it. “Dema, you stay still. Asra, walk a little further.”

Asra gives me a quizzical look. I pat his hand then remove it from my arm. “Trust him on this one.”

He backs away from me, further along, the perimeter of the tree and its metal guards. Another few chains break off from the mass, staying where I stand, while the others follow him. “Ha!” Julian shouts in excitement. “Science!” He jogs to where I’m standing, the chains that stopped for him rattling behind him. He beckons Asra back. “A portion of the chains seem to have fixated on each of us. So if you two walk in one direction, and I walk in the other, then we switch up -”

“They’ll wrap themselves in knots. That’s brilliant, Ilya.” Asra finishes for him. “You go back the way we came, Dema and I will keep going in this direction.”

Ilya sketches a quick bow in the air, which doesn’t come across as well bare-chested with a sweat-soaked shirt hanging around his neck as it would have in his usual get up, and turns to the chains that have set their sights on him dragging them along as jogs about the tree. 

“Be careful!” I yell after him. Julian turns around for a second and waves to me, a madcap grin on his face. 

Asra takes my hand in his. “Come on, let’s see if this actually works.”

The chains follow us as we make several passes around the tree, moving in a progressively closer spiral as they catch themselves in each other. Finally, the path to the door is clear. Julian whoops with success and leans over, resting his elbows against his knees. “Score one for empiricism.”

I laugh and kiss Julian’s forehead; it’s too hot for a celebratory embrace. Asra smiles and takes the canteen back out of his bag, handing it to Julian who drizzles some of the water over his face before drinking. “You’re brilliant, Ilya.” He touches his hand to Julian’s jaw and lifts his face. “Truly brilliant.”

Asra turns back to the door, reaching out a hesitant hand, feeling for any heat pouring off it that might warn of an impending burn. His posture straightens suddenly, and then he freezes. 

“Asra?” I step closer to him. “What is it?”

“Can you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“Voices - from the other side of the door - they almost sound like -” Before Ilya or I can grab him, Asra leaps over the tangled chains and bolts for the door, banging on it with his fists and yelling, the closest I've ever seen him to panic. “Is it you? Are you in there? Please, be there!” For a moment his form shifts to a small child, with tangled hair and wearing a dirty shirt that's torn in multiple places. Then the door gives way. Asra stumbles forward, landing hard on his knees.

Ilya gets to him first and kneels beside him, checking his hands and fingers for burns or bruises. Asra looks past him, through the doorway, mouth slightly open in disbelief. I follow his gaze. Beyond there’s a terrace of marble, glowing cool white in the moonlight. A very surprised man and woman look back at us. Asra speaks first, softly, as if he's in a dream from which he's scared of waking himself. “Mom? Dad?” He stands up, steadying himself on Ilya's shoulder.

The woman speaks first, her voice halting at first and then turning to sobs. “Asra, is it - oh!” All three run across the terrace, tumbling into each other's arms, greetings turn to sobs. The woman’s hands run over Asra’s face, tilting his chin up and brushing her thumbs over his cheeks. 

Ilya and I look at each other, then back to the scene unfolding before us. All three of them have fallen to their knees. The woman cradles Asra against him. She has the same kind eyes as Asra, and while an elegant scarf conceals her hair, I suspect Asra got his distinctive coloring from her. The man has the same slight build, and his hair, though dark brown, is at least as fluffy as Asra's. 

“His parents?” Julian speaks softly in my ear. They don't look that much older than we are, but then, time is strange in the magical realms. Are they real? If this is a trick, it makes sense that they would appear as Asra remembers them. I hope this isn't a passing vision like the ones Julian and I experienced. It's rare to hear Asra so genuinely happy. Rare and lovely.

Snippets of their conversation bounce along the marble terrace and reach my ears. “You've grown?” “How long has it been in our world?” “Twenty years. Mom -” Asra’s shoulders start to shake. “It’s been a lifetime.”

“Yes.” I nod and get back to my feet. “His parents.”

Julian's eyes go wide, and he quickly shakes out his shirt and throws it back on. I start to laugh at him, then realize that the blouse I'm wearing is probably close to transparent from sweat. Cursing quietly - although I doubt either have noticed anything Julian and I may or may not be wearing - I work a spell to dry out both our clothes. Beside me, Julian does up one more button on his shirt than he usually can be bothered with and gets to his feet, nervously brushing sand from his trousers and fretting under his breath.

“Just be yourself,” I whisper to him as I smooth his shirt over his chest.

“Right. Myself... Uh, are you sure about that?”

“Darling, I'm sure.” When I look back through the doorway, the chains are still writhing as they try to push closer to the threshold. Not too much to lose even if it locks behind us then. I shove it closed with my shoulder and take Julian’s hand. “More sure of that than I am of anything else

The temperature on the terrace is far more pleasant than outside, just warm enough with a touch of humidity to soften the moonlight. Curtains flutter to my left, obscuring still shapes behind them. To the right, the terrace overlooks a strange landscape. Deep, steaming hot springs and rocky craters break up the dizzyingly flat ground. In the distance, mountains cut into a sky that is more stars than darkness. My lips begin to shape into an exclamation before the ground starts to rumble beneath my feet and Julian grabs my waist. One of the craters erupts into a tower of churning water.

There’s a soft laugh and a kind reassurance from the woman. Reunion interrupted, Asra looks back and beckons us to him. He’s smiling shyly; it’s a curious look on him. “Mom, Dad, this is Dema.” He stands and wraps one arm around my waist before reaching out to take Julian’s hand. “And this is Ilya . . . or, uh, Julian.”

“Um, either is okay.”

“These are my parents, Aisha and Salim.”

Julian shakes hands with Salim, managing not to be too awkward, and Aisha regards us both with a knowing expression and warm eyes. 

“It's a pleasure to meet both of you.” She holds her hand to her chest, smiles at us and inclines her head just slightly. Her welcome seems to put Julian more at ease - puts me more at ease. She folds her hands around mine and steps backward, pulling me further down the terrace. “Come. There are many things to tell each other.”

A wrought iron table with five chairs appears on the terrace, and Aisha settles all three of us at it. She holds her hands out over the table and a tray with a steaming teapot and five cups appears beneath them. “It doesn’t feel like we’ve been here for twenty years, but it’s been plenty long enough to learn how to conjure the necessities of a tolerable existence.” She pours the tea around, then smiles faintly at Asra. “My child, how _did_ you find us after all these years?”

“I, well, I wasn't...” Asra flushes red then hides his face in his hands. “I'm so sorry. I thought you were dead. Lucio said - he told me that he had both of you executed.” 

Aisha rubs his shoulder gently. Asra leans into her, resting his head on her shoulder and letting her stroke his hair. “Shh, sweet child. You don't need to apologize. How could you have known?”

Salim's eyes dart between Julian’s face and mine. “What were you looking for?” 

“Well, it's kind of a long story. The Red Plague - you might have heard of it, it had appeared before in other places - ravaged Vesuvia about five years ago.” Julian pauses to take a sip of tea, and I take the opportunity to interrupt him before this becomes an epic. 

“Short version. The Devil is trying to take control of all the realms, both the human and the arcane, and we need to find a way to stop him."

Salim looks at Aisha. “The Devil! Aisha, do you think - was trapping us here part of?”

“Why us though?” Aisha reaches over and touches Salim’s shoulder.

Asra lifts his head, and looks from his mother to his father and then back again. “What? What do you mean?” He sits up straight. I reach across the table and hold Asra’s hands in mine, trying to work his fingers loose from the fists he’s clenched then into. Salim is onto something, I think. Perhaps his parents stood in for another one or two of the Arcana that the Devil needed bound to him. Or, perhaps, separating them from Asra was just part of a very long play to make sure that Asra was desperate and broken when the Devil needed him to be. 

“What the Count told you - he intended to kill us, I think. Or that’s what he told us. When we finished the work on his arm, he locked us in separate cells, somehow enchanted so that we couldn’t use our magic. And that’s when the Devil came to me. He offered me a deal. If I agreed to leave behind our realm forever, he’d free your father from the Count’s cells and prevent Lucio from harming you.”

Salim picks up the narrative. “And he offered me the same deal. I thought, if I took it, your mother would be free and both of you would be safe.”

“I thought the same thing. But, you see he didn’t specify what free meant.”

Julian looks over at me and then back down to his hands. He picks up his cup and tea, lifts it to his lips, and sets it back down without drinking. “We’re familiar with that ourselves. The um, matter of what is not said.”

Aisha arches an eyebrow at us, promising more questions for us later. “So, while we were no longer trapped in the dungeons we were both trapped here. All without the Devil being caught in a lie.”

“Unless, of course -” Salim stops his statement abruptly. When he looks at Asra, his eyes tighten with concern. “Were you safe from Lucio?”

Asra presses his lips together to stop the lower one from trembling. “He never harmed me. At least not directly. But - I was just a child, that night you didn’t come home...”

Aisha lifts her hand and lets it stop just short of Asra’s face. “I know, Asra, I’m so sorry. I swear we’ve never stopped looking for a way back.”

He leans his cheek against her outstretched palm. “I . . . I’m sure you never did.”

Silence settles around the table like a shroud. Julian sips his tea and taps his toe against the floor. I set a hand on his knee. Maybe it will steady him a bit. Asra lifts his head, and Aisha moves her hand to her teacup. She raises it to her mouth and sips delicately. Her eyes move to mine and her brows push together with concern. “So, you are here trying to find a way to stop the Devil from gaining dominion over all the realms. How has that come about? And how are you involved?”

“It’s a little difficult to explain.” I pick up my teacup to stall for another moment, but Asra takes over the narrative before I can speak my own version of it.

“I, I made a deal. With the Devil. Three years ago.” He lifts his own cup and drinks deeply, then begins to tell the story. How I had died and he had resurrected me. What we knew of Lucio, how I fell for one of the Devil’s tricks earlier, the information from the Star about whatever _wonderful_ role I was supposed to play in all this. When he finishes, Aisha squeezes his hand. Salim sits back in his chair and folds his hands in front of him.

“So, the Devil entraps humans who can represent the Arcana and then uses them to channel the greater power.” He shakes his head. “And so, presumably, that’s why he offered Aisha and me the deals that he did. This has been a long time in the making. How did you find your way here, Asra?”

“My... this compass.” Asra fumbles in his pockets and retrieves the battered bit of metal. “It brought us here. I thought it would lead us to some new information, some help. But perhaps it was bringing me to you.”

Salim takes the compass from Asra and turns it over in his hands. “Ah, this. I remember making it.” He smiles at Aisha. “A wedding gift. I am glad that you were able to save this.”

“Is that what it was? I just remembered it was special. And it was something I could take when - when I had to leave home.”

Aisha and Salim both look down at their hands, troubled by what he didn’t quite say. _When I was thrown out. When I lived on the streets and under the docks. When I was hungry and cold and scared and there wasn’t anyone there to care for me._

“We may be able to offer you something. The reason - at least, I think - that the Devil has been able to keep us here for so long is because he separated us from our familiars. We can still do some magic, but nothing like our full ability.”

“That’s like -” Julian leans forward - a little too much. His chest bumps against the edge, and he has to grab at the sides to keep it from toppling over. “Like when the Devil had Faust. It was like you were chained yourself.”

Aisha presses her lips together and nods grimly. “Yes. We’ve attempted to find them. But this place - whenever we think that we’ve located them, everything changes around us.”

“Perhaps -” Salim taps his fingers against his chin. “Perhaps if they were restored to us, we would be able to raise a gate and leave this place. And if we can leave, we’ll help you. However we can.”

“I might be able to - the Star, what she said about me, or not me, that I can somehow break the Devil’s magic.” I’m stammering. Asra looks at me, lips slightly parted, and I don’t want to promise him something of which I can’t be sure. “I don’t understand it, but I want to help. If I can.”

“Yes, maybe with help.” Aisha stands and smooths her skirt. She tops up our teacups and the empty pot disappears. “Drink up. I have some things to gather that we may need, and then, we can set out.” 


	14. A Knife Cutting Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [this song](https://open.spotify.com/track/3mehUbaBJ8soUNeGXX9wzy?si=2w5DAsbqTCWMmGXJ8UrUNg) by the Boris Grebenshikov which I can not find on youtube.

Like the desert outside, distance doesn’t follow the rules of our world anymore than time does. It only takes a few minutes to follow Aisha and Salim along a path leading between the sapphire blue pools and into a prairie scattered with stands of pine trees. In the same span of time, the sun has risen - not to its zenith - but well above the horizon. The ground tilts up, becoming steep and rocky.

“We’ve been able to feel Chimes and Flamel - those are our familiars, Dema - in this direction for a while now.” Salim leans down and picks up a hand of pine needles, allowing them to scatter through his fingers. “The trees have changed on us again, Aisha.”

“Yes, I was afraid -” 

Without any gentleness, the ground beneath us rumbles and contorts. It rends itself apart, opening a chasm between Asra and Aisha’s feet. Julian grabs Asra again and pulls him away from the edge as Salim does the same thing for Aisha. When the world is still again, the chasm is deep, but it’s narrow enough to be hopped over easily. Salim holds a hand to stop the action though and studies the ground with a frown. 

“This part of the realm isn’t very stable. I’m afraid it might be best if we split up for a bit.” He points to where the ground changes from an uphill to a steep slope down. “There’s a path down over there. Can’t miss it - marked with two black stone cairns. It’s a bit longer but safer. We know this way well enough to be safe on it.”

“Are you sure?” Asra asks. “I don’t like -”

“I don’t like splitting up either.” Aisha sighs. “But things are always shaky here, and I wouldn’t be surprised if we’ve attracted some attention.”

“There’s a stream at the bottom of the cliff. We’ll be waiting there. Be careful.” Salim tosses the compass back to Asra. “This might help if there’s any confusion at the bottom.” 

Asra clutches the compass to his chest and shakes his head silently. Why wouldn’t he fear being separated from them again? I reach out and take his hand, squeezing his fingers gently.

“Right then, we’ve got this.” Julian nudges Asra’s side and starts for the boulders Salim indicated. Even with my hand around his, Asra repeatedly pauses to look back over his shoulder. Aisha and Salim wave us forward until we’ve reached the stacked stones that mark the correct path. They wave to us a final time and then turn aside for their own path. 

The route down is clearly marked, as Salim had said, by two cairns of obsidian. Small piles of the black rock continue down the edge of the cliff marking the switchbacks to the canyon floor. Julian tests the surface of the path and the loose gravel rolls beneath the soles of his boot.

“Be careful.” Julian picks up a small stone and lobs it over the edge, watching as it bounces its way down the slope. “I don't think you'd fall . . . exactly . . . if you slipped, but it . . . uh . . . wouldn't be a pleasant tumble. Um, Dema? Asra?”

Asra is entirely lost in his thoughts, still looking back at the last point where we could see his parents. I curl my hand around his and press my cheek against his upper arm. “Are you okay?”

“I -” He sighs and speaks softly, pensively. “This was the first thing you did...”

“That I -?”

“When I brought you back, once you were... calmer. You took my arm like this - like you had done a thousand times before - and that was the thing that let me know it really was you I had brought back, and not just something... someone that looked like you. A trick. What if this is just another trick? And they’re not -”

“Asra, the way they looked at you - no trick is good enough to fake that.” I pull him over to a boulder and sit down, tugging him down beside me and pulling him into my arms. He tucks his face against my neck as I rub his neck and back. It’s pleasantly warm here from the hot springs and geysers, but he still shakes as though he’s freezing.

“Even then - I'm scared they won't be what I remember, what I've imagined.” 

I have no idea how to respond. Any recollection of my parents is locked away behind a wall of flame with my other memories. That gap didn't stand out from any of the others. I lift my head. Julian stands between the cairns, and I gesture with my chin.  _ A little help, please. _

“If somehow, I discovered my parents hadn't died in that shipwreck -” Julian sits down on the other side of Asra with a heavy sigh. “I, uh, don't know what I'd do. I used to try to imagine that, but it's so impossible. I'm sure I'm not the person I would have been. Would they know me? Like me even? Pasha - Pasha doesn't remember them at all. But I would want to try to know them. I think.”

“What if they didn't like the person you've become?” Asra sits up and turns toward Julian, setting one hand on his thigh. “If they decided that they didn't want to know you?”

Julian sets his hand on top of Asra's. “Well, I'd still have you, and Dema, and Pasha, Mazelinka, Nazali, so... It would be worth taking the chance, I think. There’s not much to lose, really.”

Asra kisses the top of my head then turns his other hand over twining his fingers in Julian's, clutching him like the knot at the end of a rope. I curl my arm around his bicep again and lean my head against his shoulder. 

“They’re probably worried about the same kind of thing. Will you still like them? Love who they are?” I’ve wondered before, if my memories ever return, what I might think of my family. Asra has only ever mentioned my aunt. Who were, who are the rest? Did I leave them? Did they leave me? Would they like me?

“I guess you’re right.” Asra gets to his feet and arches his spine, stretching the muscles in his back, but his shoulders slump back again almost immediately. “I suppose that there’s no way to know.”

“You could ask them. Even tell them that you're scared.”

“Is that what you would do?”

“I -” The truth is that I don't know. Or that I do know, in a way, how hard what I suggested would be. Is.  _ Asra, my love, my friend, I'm scared that part of me will always worry that you aren't telling me the truth. That you're holding something back from me. _

“It's not a very fair question, is it? For you, I mean, because -” He closes his eyes and breathes in and out slowly. He's shaking. “You don't have any basis, and that's my - I'm scared they'll hate me. I'm scared you'll hate me, of - I mean when, I'm terrified, but I'm going to help you, I swear - get your memories back.”

“Asra.” I touch my hand to his jaw and turn his face toward me. “I don't think I could hate you.”

His eyes drop. It's a hedged statement, and he knows it, and I know it. But it's true. I won't be able to hate him. No matter what I learn of my past - our history. If that is, I ever learn anything at all. 

But that says nothing of love.

***

At the bottom of the cliff, Aisha and Salim are waiting for us between two disparate trees. Small fruits grow on one, and the other is covered in deep red leaves. They stand close to each other, holding hands and speaking softly to each other. Stones crunch beneath our feet, and their soft conversation ceases. Aisha smiles and holds out her hands. “You made it. I was starting to get worried that you had run into trouble.”

Asra shakes his head. He’s smiling again, if only a little. “No, no trouble. Just being careful.”

“Good. That’s good. Come on, there’s still a way to go.” Salim gestures to a path leading up a much gentler slope than the one we just climbed down. “But I can feel that we're getting closer.”

The stream is easy enough to hop over. Beyond it, the landscape changes dramatically. A dark forest grows on the other side. Massive trees twist far up into the sky and block out the sun. A thick layer of leaves covers the forest floor, low light plants pushing through at limited intervals. 

“Well, this has certainly grown up since the last time we were here.” Salim pushes away the undergrowth as if hunting for a familiar way through.

“It’s always something new,” Aisha muses. “We’ve tried to reach Chimes and Flamel before, but each time the way forward has been blocked by something else.”

“These trees are different from any that I've seen before.” Salim stretches out his hand and touches the rough bark of one. The tree convulses, and before he can pull away, rises up from the ground, roots opening into a gaping maw. Aisha throws her arms around his waist as the branches come to life, flailing wildly. I react without thinking, gathering a ball of energy into my hands and flinging it at the tree. The leaves vibrate hard enough to sound like a road, and one branch changes direction, swinging for me. Asra grabs me down, but he isn’t quite fast enough. The branch whips across my left arm and shoulder, cutting through fabric and flesh, flinging us both back onto the ground. There are violent crashes from the other side of the tree, as Aisha and Salim are pulled further into the undergrowth.

Asra’s eyes dart back and forth between me and the thrashing trees. Black sap burns along the lash from the branch. Julian crouches down beside us, biting the tip of his tongue as he pulls back the torn fabric of my shirt.

“Careful.” I hiss through clenched teeth. For once, I wish Julian was wearing his gloves. “Don't let it get on you.” 

Even as Asra pushes my hair out of my face, he's still looking over to the copse of trees where his parents disappeared together. “Asra.  _ Go _ . I’ll be okay.”

Asra exchanges a look with Julian then scrambles up and rubs a few steps towards the trees. His hairs extend in front of him, and I can smell magic rushing around him like the air before a thunderstorm. He buffets the trees with wind and water. Aisha shouts for him to keep up whatever he’s doing, but I can tell that it isn’t quite enough. He needs more power, more magic, just a bit - I think - to draw on and he'll have them beat, but... I try to push myself up, but any energy is being sapped from my body. By the sap.  _ Ha. _

“Julian, you’re going to have to help him.”

“What? How?”

“Like we did in the Tower. You have magic, just let him use it.”

“I’ll - I'll try.” He rubs his hands together nervously, before running up to Asra and placing one hand on his shoulder. Asra glances at Julian, a look of shock on his face, and then his mouth curves into a determined smile. His hair stands on end, a glowing halo, as the water around him forms into glittering ice crystals that he drives at the trees, battering against the thrashing branches.

I manage to push myself up with my left hand, rising on unsteady feet as the branches slow and curl back in on themselves in defeat. Aisha appears, hauling Salim out from the tangle of limbs and vines. Thankfully, they're both unharmed, if adorned by a few crinkled and blackened leaves.

Asra laughs aloud as his hair settles back into its usual level of fluffiness. He bounces on the balls of his feet and tosses both arms around Julian. “That was amazing, Ilya! When did you learn - oh, Dema.”

I smile at the two of them. My arm isn't hurting anymore. Actually, I can't feel it at all, or - I realize as I begin to sway on my feet - most of my left side. Julian is beside me in a moment hoisting me in his arms. 

“Watch the sap,” I mumble, trying to keep my left arm away from his body. Hard to do when you can't really move it.

“We need to get away from those trees. This way.”

Acceleration twists my stomach, and I can’t hang on to Julian both because I don’t want whatever is on my arm getting on him and  _ because I can’t move it _ . I squeeze my eyelids tight together. The blues and greens spinning by aren't helping. Ugh. Nor is jolting to a sudden stop.

“Here. Set her down. Sweetheart?” Asra tucks something soft under my head and gently pushes me back down as I try to prop myself up on my good arm.

“What  _ is _ that?” Julian cuts the left sleeve of my sweater away from my arm, handling it with his fingertips.

Salim peers over Asra's shoulder, and I giggle a little at how their faces mirror each other. Asra holds his bottom lip between his teeth. “I'm going to try to pull the sap out.” His hands hover over my arm, the air around the glows blue-violet for a moment, and my skin feels cool at the edges of where it doesn't feel anything at all. Cool. Then hot and sharp, something tugging on my veins, and I'm whimpering like a small child and biting at my lip trying not to curse or cry out. Julian holds my good hand and strokes my forehead. Then Asra's magic flares and disappears, just like when Asra tried to call a light to him in the Star's realm. “It's not - why isn't it?”

“Maybe I can?” Salim tugs on Asra's shoulder, pulling him away until Salim can touch my arm with his own fingertips. More magic. Sharp little pinpricks. Warm, pumpkin orange light, and again, a flare as it snaps out of existence. “I don't know - our magic has been shaky without our familiars.”

“We'll need to get them. Then we can help Dema.” Aisha leans over Asra and rubs his shoulder. 

“Can you hold on a bit longer, sweetheart?” Asra leans over and strokes my hair, worry lines around his eyes.

I force myself to nod. It doesn't hurt, not really, but my vision is starting to go fuzzy, and it's getting a bit harder to breathe.

“Quicker the better then.” Salim gets to his feet. “They're close at least. Closer than we've gotten before.”

Julian loops my right arm around his neck and scoops me back up, careful to keep my left arm away from him. “Hold on, darling,” he whispers into my hair. I tighten my fingers around his shoulder, but it's precious little. “Okay, much as you can. Good girl.”

It's like being caught in the sea. Waves crashing around me, over me. Thoughts drifting with Julian occasionally muttering things about venomous trees and magicky things pulling me out for a moment before I fall back under. He begins talking more, encouraging me to keep breathing.  _ C'mon, there you go, darling. In as much as you can. Out now. I know it's getting hard, but keep it up. Stay with me.  _

With him? Who?

Cooler air. Moist. Less light. A cave.  _ They're in here somewhere. Hurry. Asra, I don't think, there's a lot of time left. _ Waves. Soothing waves. Warm palm on - my - my cheek.  _ Hold on, dear heart. _

Settle onto sandy ground. Underwater? I panic for a moment. Can't breathe. Why is it so hard to breathe? There are so many colors. Is this an octopus' garden? Someone told me - told someone - about those once. Curious. Beautiful.

_ How do we get past that? _

Hard to get upright with one arm. Colors all around, smooth curving shapes, except - except something angular, crisscrossed, and wrong. Parallels and perpendiculars and hot where it should be cool and behind it sinuous forms that should be with the rest of the space, not separate.

_ Darling, what are you doing? _

_ Let her. I think - _

_ What if she falls? _

Silly, no one can fall once they're in the water already. Just float. Loco out and spin about because it's so fun to be weightless. Drive under and grab at those bars that are so wrong, so out of place, and -

Burning, blinding, hot - so hot - as they shatter beneath my hands. I fall to my knees with a cry, and Asra is next to me pulling my head into his lap and babbling something. Sharps strings pull through me. There's not enough air in my lungs for a scream, just a whimper.

Then, a rush of cool air -  _ air _ , not water! - in my lungs, and another, and another as my diaphragm starts to move again in heaving gasps. Asra strokes my cheeks with the back of his hand. “You're okay. Okay, you're fine.”

I only notice how cold my fingers are when Julian sits down beside me and picks up my hand. He rubs his thumb over my knuckles, then presses both of his hands around mine. “Hey there.”

“Hey yourself.” It's a weak response, I'm not sure I can manage much more just yet. I glance at the ground around me. Nothing but sand and stone; although, I felt something shatter in my hands.

“Had me scared there for a bit.” He's calmer than I would have expected. Doctor mode, perhaps? That's probably much safer, emotionally.

“Sorry.” 

“Let's try sitting up, shall we?”

His hands move to my upper arms and he tugs me upright. Then his composure cracks and he crushes me against his chest. “Oh my god, I thought you, that you were -” He presses his face into my hair and stops talking, just rocking back and forth and holding me tight. It takes me a few moments to realize that I'm crying too. Everything felt so distant as it was happening, but now... All the terror that I didn't feel hits me at once. Too much to sob. I just shake in his arms.

When I'm still Julian lets me go. Asra is sitting next to him, leaning his head against Julian's shoulder. A small bag of light hovers beside him, and his eyes shine with tears. “You're okay, right? Say you're okay.”

I wiggle my fingers and toes. Everything moves again, and there's feeling in my extremities. “I'm okay.” I take a deep breath and smile a bit. “What happened? I broke something, but -”

“My parents' familiars were caged behind bars.”

“Ones that were glowing hot - like the chains around the tree.”

“And you just walked straight toward them, like you were in a dream. They fell apart in your hands.”

“Oh.” I hold my hand up. It's shaking. “Are you, are you sure it wasn't a dream?”

Asra nods. “Dad was able to heal you after. When he had Flamel back.” He gestures to our right.” Aisha and Salim are sitting together on the floor. Two snakes curl around them, nudging their faces and tonguing at their ears and noses. Their familiars. 

“Dema.” Aisha smiles as she strokes the head of the serpent coiled closest to her. “How can we ever repay you?”

“Saving my life is a pretty good start.”

“We would have done that anyway, dear.” Aisha's familiar curls around her shoulders then slips into the folds of her clothes - just the same way that Faust might do with Asra.

Asra disentangles himself from me and Julian and gets to his feet. “Now that you have Chimes and Flamel back, will you be able -”

“To go back to our realm?” Salim holds his hands out in front of him and cracks his knuckles. “Let's find out.” He jumps up then squats back down, touching his palms to the ground and then slowly raising them. The golden door we entered through rises up from the rock beneath our feet. Salim looks pleased with himself. “Good. I wasn’t sure I could still summon the door after all this time.”

The door swings open, revealing a Vesuvian street at night. Glowing paper lamps light the cobblestones, and I can hear the sounds of the masquerade still carrying on just beyond a corner. Aisha's smile is warm and sad at the same time. “Now we can go home. But you three have business left, I'm afraid. What can we do? Where will we help you the most?”

“Go to the palace. Tell Nadia -” His face twists as he tries to think of some way to communicate who they are, that he sent for them. I touch his hand and supply a code of sorts.

“Tell the Countess that she held the Queen of Swords the entire time and that the little fool still doesn't appreciate that game. She'll know we sent you.”

Aisha lifts an eyebrow at me, but nods. “Very well.” She holds out her arms and pulls Asra into a tight embrace, joined in a moment by Salim. “We’ll do all that we can. And we'll see you soon, my dear child.”

Aisha lets go of Asra and pulls me tight against her for a moment. I don’t remember my mother, but I find myself relaxing in her warm arms and deciding that it is possible to miss something you don’t remember. She presses her cheek to mine, then pulls Julian into a tight hug as well. He looks completely flummoxed for a moment before his expression softens. “I trust you’ll take care of each other.”

Aisha and Salim step through the doorway and into the street beyond, turning to wave to us as the door closes behind them. Asra sighs heavily as the door closes behind him. Julian embraces from behind, and he slumps back against Julian’s chest, eyes closed for all of a moment before they snap back open. “Wait! So much has changed since they’ve been gone. Our house isn’t even there anymore. We should have told them to go to the shop. What if -”

“Asra, they’ll be fine.” Julian kisses the top of Asra’s head and rubs his arms. Asra lets Julian hold him for another minute, then shakes himself free, reaching in his bag. “I suppose we should get back to trying to figure out how to get ourselves home. I think I put the compass back in here.”

As he’s rummaging through his bag, there’s a metallic whine as the door reshapes itself. The gold melts away from the surface reshaping into a familiar wooden frame etched with protective spells. The door to my shop.

“Look at that, maybe -” Julian reaches for the handle before I can shout for him to stop. Chains swing out from behind the door twisting around Julian’s chest. I throw my arms around Julian’s waist as he’s pulled through the doorway. Just in the corner of my vision, I can see one of the chains wrap around Asra’s ankle jerking him off his feet and dragging him past the threshold.

Then my vision goes dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DON'T TOUCH THE MAGICKY THINGS, JULIAN! :)


	15. I Dreamt of Ashes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: BODY HORROR
> 
> Chapter title from [Boris Grebenshikov, Пепел](https://youtu.be/mPrMttDaM-w). Seriously, go have a listen even if you don't know any Russian... it really sets the tone.

I would lock the door of the shop behind me, but there's no point. No reason for anything. Not anymore.  
Desperate tomfoolery from occasional tavern breaks the quiet of the streets - wakes. Phantasmagoric wakes for the dead and those soon to be dead. The tapping of shoes and the closing of hands becomes the chattering rattle of bone against bone.   
I walk on. Past buildings with candles burning the in windows, and ones entirely dark, and ones with huge Xs drawn across the door in dripping red paint.   
There's a child clutching a toy snake and crying in front of a cold, empty house. White hair frames his huge amethyst eyes with wild curls. I should know him. Who is he? I know him. What’s his name?  
“Why are you crying?”  
He looks up at me and wipes his nose on the sleeve of his shirt. “Do you know where my mom and dad are? It's dark, and I'm hungry, and they haven't come home.” His eyes implore me for an explanation, help, anything.  
My hands are empty. There’s nothing in my pockets. I shake my head. “I can only help you in the future. Not now. I can’t help you now.” Even as I say them, the words make no sense. What future? There’s no future here. I start to turn away from the child, feet carrying me forward whether I want them to or not.  
“In the future, you'll be mine.” His words bring me to halt. They sound so serious, and yet, his voice is still a child's soft pitches.   
“I'm sorry.”  
“You can go for now.” He looks at me, eyes bright over tear-stained cheeks. “I won't be okay. Not at first. But in the future, you'll be mine.”  
“What? What do you -?”  
He scrubs his sleeve across his face. When he lifts his eyes again, his tears have turned to blood smeared across his face. “And I won't ever let you go.”  
My hands stretch out before me, palms raised, fingers weaving signs against ill luck, against evil without any conscious thought on my part, and I back away a few steps before turning and fleeing through the sepulchral streets, stumbling to my knees in a boat rocking on the water.  
The island waits in the middle of the harbor. I step onto grey sand. Another step and I’m in a corner of a building, surrounded by the sick and dying and men in awful bird masks. They pace the room, poking at the miserable bodies on the floor with canes in their hands and the toes of their boots and dragging of those that don't respond. Two of the bird masks approach a figure slumped on the floor next to a bed. A lock of yellow hair peeks out from underneath a greasy scarf. She looks . . . familiar. The birdmen prod her side. She doesn't respond. My heart begins to pound in my chest. I try to yell at her to get up, but my throat tightens, and I can’t get the words or even a scream out. The bird men scoop her up, one grabbing her shoulders, the other her ankles. Her fingers curl slightly as they carry her away, but no one notices. My heart rate increases growing louder, rising in my ears and throbbing in my temples.  
Silence.  
I'm on the ashen beach again.  
I can't feel a heartbeat in my chest.  
The white-haired boy - but no longer a child, a young adult - kneels on the beach digging frantically, a beaten compass half-buried beside his knee. He's sobbing, hands torn and bleeding.  
I stand on the other side of the hole he digs. Each handful uncovers new bits of charred bone that cut into his palms.  
“Stop that. You'll hurt yourself.”  
He doesn't hear me.  
I kneel down across from him and grab his hands in mine. He freezes and looks up at me. When our eyes meet, my chest seizes and my heart begins to pulse again.   
“Asra.” I know his name now. And mine, he says it slowly.   
“Dema.” He touches my face gently as if he fears I'll shatter in front of him. “I, I don't understand. You're here.”  
“Where?” The sand beneath us has smoothed over as if he had never been digging. “Where's -” There's a name on the tip of my tongue, but I can't quite recall it. I look around us. A forest edges the beach. A tall man stands there, holding one of the awful bird masks in his hand. He looks at us, a bittersweet smile playing on his lips, before turning away.  
“Wait!” I can’t recall his name. What is it?   
As I start to scramble to my feet, cold water crashes over me. Asra’s hand closes around my wrist, keeping us together as the water swirls us around and spits us back out into a clearing, eerily lit by a red light. The man is across the clearing from us, bound and hanging upside down, hair covering over his face, speaking with a giant raven.   
“There's nothing back there for me, just ... and they'll be happier there without me.”  
The raven bobs its head, croaks softly, and lifts up on its feet. With a sharp, fluid movement, it thrusts its beak forward and into the man’s eye. My heart stops. I try to scream his name, but I still can't recall it. Instead, I run toward him, stumbling over roots and finally falling to my knees. Asra's hands come to rest on my shoulders, pulling me right against him. “This isn't how it happened. He came back to us. This isn't how -”  
There's a raucous cawing and a flock of ravens burst from the trees, flying toward us. I duck my head and close my eyes.  
Silence again.  
I'm in a musty stone hallway. Asra is still beside me.   
“I think we're in a nightmare.” His voice is soft.  
There's still a throbbing pulse of hurt in the back of my head, but my mind feels clearer than before. “Whose nightmare?”  
We look at each other and then speak at the same time.  
“Julian.”  
“Ilya.”  
A torch flares to life beside me. I jump back from it and close my eyes. Asra runs his hand down my arm soothingly. He wraps an arm around my shoulders and guides me forward a few steps.  
“You can open your eyes.”   
I do. The torch is behind us. The way ahead is lit by a glowing orb. It reveals blood smeared along the walls, dried at points and fresh, dripping at others. It’s mostly at the height where an adult’s hand would reach, but the occasional handprint is lower and horrifyingly smaller on the wall.  
The hallway leads down into a brightly lit chamber. I've been here before. Asra and I have been here before. The dungeons under the palace, where the plague doctors worked, where Julian worked, trying to find a cure. In my memory, the dungeon is abandoned and empty, but in this nightmare, it’s filled with bodies, stacked haphazardly atop one another. Red beetles scurry across the walls, their clicking jaws a steady drone. Asra clutches my hand in his.  
Across the chamber, Julian hovers over a table, frantically running his hands through his hair and talking to himself. “No. No. No. Why isn't it working? It should be working.”  
The figure on the table is racked by a cough. It sits up. My body. Eyes carmine from the plague and hunched over in a coughing spell. “You let this happen...” It rasps out the accusation in my voice. “I should have left.”  
My voice, my body. But it's not me. It isn’t. I didn’t die like this. Not here. Julian didn’t... didn’t know, didn’t see. I shout and run to him, trying to reach him across the table, but he can't hear me and my hands pass through him. Asra watches from where we stood before and clutches his hand over his mouth in horror.  
“No, Dema, I, I'll fix this.” Julian shoves his hands through his hair. “Please, just lie back down. I -”  
“Oh Julian,” I sigh in defeat. Then my simulacra and I speak together, I with sadness, and she with rage. “You can't fix this.”  
Red beetles swarm the table. He sobs again and tries to push them away, failing. They recede like a red wave leaving nothing behind. He stares helplessly at his hand then sinks down, forehead against the table.  
Figures emerge from the shadows of the room. Grotesque doubles, eyes red and watering, skin yellow with jaundice.   
“We were fine without you.” The first, a short redheaded woman accuses. Julian looks up, eyes going wide. His lips mouth a name that I should know. “You shouldn't have come back.”  
He gets up from the table and backs up, bumping into a white-haired youth.   
From across the room, Asra yells, “Ilya, that's not -”  
Asra's double spins Julian about by the shoulders and shoves him back against the table. “You're the reason she's dead.” The double leans close to him, running a menacing hand along his jaw. “Even if I could give you what you want, Ilya -” He drags his thumb over Julian's lips and leans in, kissing him slowly, menacingly. “What makes you think you deserve it?”  
Asra tries ineffectively to shove his double aside. “Ilya, don't listen. I'm so sorry, Ilya.”  
With a choked cry, Julian twists away from the double and flees to his cell, the door banging behind him. Asra throws himself at his double, tackling him to the floor. The stones crumble beneath them and they fall away as more beetles skitter up from the void beneath them.   
I sprint away from the rapidly disintegrating floor, toward Julian’s cell. The small room twists on itself as I open the door, turning not into a tiny office, but a very familiar palace bedroom. Portraits of a blonde man in military regalia line the walls, a mockery of the withered husk lying in the bed.  
“You could save them all.” A soft voice - my voice - says. A curtain is pushed back and another double appears. Mine again, but healthy, wearing a red dress that reveals more than it covers, hair hanging in neat braids about my face. She sits on the edge of the bed, beside the sleeping man, traces her nails across his face, his throat. “You know how to do it. End the plague. It won't go away until he does.”  
Jerkily, as if his movements are controlled by a force outside himself, Julian sits on the edge of the bed. His hands hover over the other man's neck.  
“I can't he's -”  
“So weak? So pathetic? It would be so easy to end it now. Murdering one man is better than being responsible for the deaths of thousands. The most good to the most people. Think of the people you'll save. Think -” She ducks her head and looks up at him through her eyelashes. “Think of me.”  
The coy gesture is the tell. Julian jerks away from her. “No. No. You're not her. She wouldn't say those things to me. She wouldn't want me to do this. She, she still thought... I've made mistakes, so many mistakes, but I am not a murderer!”   
He turns away from her and for a moment our eyes meet before the room dissolves around us.  
. . .   
A repeated heavy thumping wakes me. I open my eyes. Julian, Asra, and I are lying in a heap on a familiar looking floor. Asra's heart races just under my ear. I watch Julian's chest until I see it rise and fall. We're all still alive. I think. I'm not sure what alive means anymore, at least in my case.  
I sit up, rubbing my temples, and glance around. We're in my shop. But it's not my shop. The banging is a frigid wind blowing the door open and closed, pushing more snow in with each gust. But it never snows in Vesuvia. I haven't seen snow since . . . A sudden pain explodes behind my eyes, and I let the thought go, grabbing the counter, pulling myself up, and stumbling across the room to close and bar the door. It's a little better without the wind.  
I slump heavily against the counter and slide down onto the floor. “Asra? Ilya?” I shake their shoulders. Asra moans in his sleep. His hand reaches out and finds my arm, wrapping around it, almost painfully tight. I pry his fingers off and wiggle close enough to him to lift his head and shoulders into my lap. “Ilya?” I say his name louder. This time, Julian's eyes snap open, and he wakes with a gasp.   
“Dema. You. You're alright.” He scrambles up then nearly falls forward in his haste to get his arms around me. “You're okay.” He presses his face into my neck, shaking with sobs. I wrap one arm around him and stroke his hair, keeping my other hand on Asra's back.   
“Shh, lyubov, it was just a nightmare - tolko koshmar.” I have no idea when or where I learned those words, but they must make some sense to him. Ilya settles against me, breathing beginning to steady. He reaches down and touches Asra's face. Asra stirs again but doesn't wake. I shift his scarf around to cover his arms.  
Julian looks up at me. His eyes are still wide, but not as distressed as a moment before. “I thought, I thought I saw you, the real you, there at the end.”  
“It was me. I tried to reach you, before that, in the dungeon.”  
“How much did you see?”  
“The Hanged Man’s realm, the dungeon -”  
“Before that, there was the storm, Pasha, I was trying to hold onto her, and I couldn’t, the waves...”  
“It’s okay. It was just dreams. Just nightmares.” I can’t stop an incongruent little chuckle from escaping my throat. And we’re not in a nightmare now?  
Beneath my hands, Asra jerks, and his eyes snap open. He looks up, eyes darting back and forth between us, breathes hard. He sits up, then leans back against my shoulder, sobbing and clutching at my arm again. I stroke his hair and keep whispering in his ear that it’s okay now, he’s awake. He calms for a moment, then draws in a sharp breath, before speaking - rapidly, desperately.   
“I saw. I saw when I brought you back. I was so confused. I knew what I had intended to do, but I didn't know what I had done, and you were there, but you were helpless and hurting, and you didn't know me, or Faust, or your own name. Nadia sprawled on the floor, nearly dead. Muriel was gone. But that... That isn't how it happened. Not quite. Not really. Those damn dogs were barking up a storm. Ilya, you were somehow there, but when you didn't remember Dema and when you looked at me the only thing in your eyes was confusion and I asked you to help me, help her, and there was hatred in your eyes when you looked at me, and I knew I deserved it, and you were gone. And, somehow, Dema, I got you back here, and you were calmer, as long as Faust stayed with you. And . . .” He finally runs out of breath and pauses. Ilya grabs him and pulls him into a tight embrace.  
“You didn't deserve that.” He murmurs in Asra's ear. “I swear you didn't.” Ilya unwraps one arm and folds me into the embrace.   
Asra's breath gradually slows, and he looks around at the frost-covered shop. He takes my hand and presses my fingers to his lips. “Dema, did you -?”  
“The Lazaret. You were there... then the Hanged Man’s realm... the dungeons beneath the palace. You, you fell...” Even the words send a throb tearing through my head.  
“Things that happened, but not quite as they happened.” He turns my hand over and leans my face against his palm.  
All three of us are quiet for a moment, catching our breath. A plaintive meow breaks the silence, and a small, warm body hops into my lap. The little black cat again. Julian shakes his head at her reappearance and grasps the edge of the counter and pulls himself upright before reaching back down for Asra and me. “So what fresh hell is this?”  
The cat chirps in protest as she’s dislodged from my lap and disappears behind the curtain to the back of the shop. Asra shivers as he stands and pulls me close to him. “Maybe it's warmer there.”  
I shrug. If we're lucky it'll be warmer, and Asra's pile of cushions and blankets will be in its place in the corner. I push aside the curtain and nearly cry with relief when not only is there no snow dusting the room, but the blankets are there, and it's noticeably a degree or two warmer. I grab the first three blankets I can reach and toss one around Julian's shoulders before wrapping the second around mine. Asra stands in front of the reading table with arms folded tight to his chest and the cat rubbing around his legs. He stares down at a single card. I drape the last blanket over his shoulders. He turns his face to me. “So, what question do we have for the card?”  
“Where are we? That seems like a good start.” I reach down and flip the card over. Death.  
Julian snorts, the same short laugh I heard before. “Figures.”  
There's an eerie laugh from the doorway and a cold burst of air. I know that voice. I turn around slowly. Valdemar stands in the doorway, hands folded tranquilly in front of them.  
“You?”  
“Yes, me.” They tilt their head to the side, peering at us without blinking. Behind them, I can hear a faint sound of a thousand tiny legs scratching across surfaces. “All three of you - here and with your faculties intact. Curious. My little welcome gift should have snapped your mortal minds like twigs.”  
“What are you doing here?” Julian steps in front of Asra and me, blocking us from Valdemar. The blanket around his shoulders falls to the floor.  
“That’s a better question for you, Zero-Six-Nine. You are in my realm after all?  
“You're the Death Arcana?”   
“Not precisely. But Death just really isn't what they used to be. I have . . . taken over . . . in their absence.”  
“What are you then?”  
“Oh, good question. I’m amazed you’ve foregone asking it for so long; you’re not known for self control.” Valdemar sedately turns their face, looking directly at me. “What do you think, little Fool? Just what am I?”  
I ignore Asra’s hand on my wrist and step out from behind Julian. The very air around Valdemar is sharp, crystallized, frozen in time. There’s a faint resonance of the Death card - when it’s reversed - but something beneath that as well, contorted and ossified. “You aren’t human.”  
“You say that like it's a bad thing. Humans are so fragile. But not me, not anymore.”  
Anymore? Was that the twisted presence I sensed at Valdemar’s core? Some last remnant of a human person. “I don’t know what you are.”  
“Unsurprising. Few know anything of the process. He’s made sure of that.”  
Julian’s hand wraps around mine and squeezes twice like he’s trying to signal something. “He - ?” His question sounds a touch forced. Surely there’s only one he Valdemar could be referring to. “The Devil? He made you into this?”  
“You only now figured that out? Disappointing, Zero-Six-Nine. I hadn’t taken you for that much of an idiot.”  
Asra puts a hand on Julian’s shoulder and steps beside him. “The Devil?” His voice is soft with affected innocence, playing along with Julian. “That’s who you serve?”  
Valdemar sniffs. “Certainly not. We’re colleagues.”  
“So you’re also colleagues with the others . . .Volta, Vulgora, Vlastomil . . . who’s that last one?”   
“Valerius. Consul Valerius. The one always in the wine.” Julian continues. I keep one hand locked around Asra’s and rest my other hand on Julian’s waist. I can’t believe Valdemar is buying this at all, much less that they’ll remain forthcoming for long.  
“Them? They might like to think so, but no, I’ve attained an entirely different level. It takes a long time to become this powerful. And more fortitude than any of them possess.”  
“Oh, so that’s why the Devil has you doing his dirty work. He’s afraid enough to send his most powerful ally.”  
“Afraid? Don’t be ridiculous, Zero-Six-Nine. It’s unbecoming if dreadfully par for the course with you. You can’t possibly threaten him, not with your pathetic humanity intact. If you were like me . . .” Valdemar goes silent, as if realizing that they’ve said too much. “But, the three of you certainly have managed to be gadflies. And that can’t stand.” Valdemar grins, revealing those horrible sharpened teeth. “I’ve never killed someone already separated from their body. It's been quite a while since I last enjoyed the taste of something new.”  
With a piercing yowl, the cat leaps over my shoulder and launches herself at Valdemar - much, much larger than she had been a moment before. I drop Asra’s hand and push past Julian, rearranging us so that he’s in the back. Magic is already sparking around my fingers, responding to a strange buzzing, crackling, skittering noise that is slowly beginning to fill the shop. Beside me, I can see Asra’s hair rise as he collects his own magic, drawing water from the air around us.  
Valdemar twitches their fingers and some other, invisible limb bats the cat to the side. “Are you going to fight back? Well, it is more fun if you do.”  
“Dema -” Julian’s hands close around my shoulders. I start to shrug him off, expecting a protest, but instead, he leans down and whispers in my ear. “Kick their ass.” I can feel him offering what magic he has to me, and open myself to it, letting the power crackle through my some and out to my fingertips.  
The volume of the skittering rises around us, and Asra lashes out at Valdemar with a shower of ice crystals just as he had attacked the tree earlier. Valdemar drops their arms to their sides and laughs aloud as the ice bounces harmlessly off them. The room seems to fold and twist in on itself as the cat digs her teeth into the bandages wrapped around Valdemar’s body. As the bandages fall away, their body expands, growing larger than could possibly fit into my real shop.  
Chains loop around whatever it is that makes up Valdemar’s form writhing figures, struggling, tearing apart, tangling back together in combinations that should never be, the deep roots of trees pushing through bones - human, animal, something else entirely - maggots writing to the surface, touching the chains and falling back again. The chains, though. They’re the only thing holding Valdemar together. One comes loose for a moment. A vulture-like beak darts out for it, but I wrap my hands around the glowing metal link.  
And scream.  
Fire cuts through me. Searing, burning out, leaving nothing, leaving...  
Wind rushing through a void. Salt air. Crashing waves. Stars that can’t be counted and the wonderful, beautiful voids between them. Morning light. Sunflowers blooming around the infinite spirals of their seeds and fading, curling back into themselves into the earth. Shooting stars. Falling, falling... Sharp jerk and a snap.  
I am.   
I am . . . I am thrown back onto the wooden floor.  
One of the chains wrapped around Valdemar breaks. A section of chaos tears away from the rest of their body, the substance dissolving into nothing. Their eyes turn to me. Shock registers on the only one of their faces that remains human enough to display emotion. Then they flee, disappearing from the facsimile of my shop.  
I sit up, rubbing my pounding forehead and breathing hard. Asra’s hands close around my shoulders and behind us Julian whoops aloud.  
“You did it! You beat them.”  
Asra and I exchange a glance. He holds my shaking hands in his, pressing them to his lips. Whatever I did . . . whatever happened . . . for a moment I wasn’t. And that had only broken one of the chains. If Valdemar had stayed, I don’t think we would have won.  
But . . . I look down at my hands, stunned when I don't see burns be across my palms. Somehow I broke the chains the Devil had wound about Valdemar to hold them together.  
“How... how did I do that?”  
Asra looks at me, brows furrowed. “Whatever you did, it knocked you flat.” He presses a cool hand against my forehead and the aching behind my eyes diminishes somewhat. “How are you going to use that against the Devil without hurting yourself?”  
“I . . . there wasn’t an I to do anything. I don’t understand.”  
A new voice creeps around the corner entering the conversation. “Perhaps I can assist?”  
All three of us look around the shop. It’s not Valdemar’s voice, but there’s no one else to be seen.  
“Did I startle you?”  
I shiver, and Asra wraps his arms around me. The voice is everywhere and nowhere like it has been waiting for me, always, patiently.  
“Oh, you must be uncomfortable. I forget how fragile your kind are, how easily you get cold. It’s been so long since I hosted guests. Think of what this place should be. For you to be comfortable.”   
I close my eyes and picture the shop put to order. No snow. Light streaming in the windows, the smell of dried herbs and clean beeswax candles. A soft touch passes behind my eyes, pulling away the remaining headache. When I open them, the shop is warm. An old woman - face craggy, pale blue eyes almost lost in wrinkles - stands in front of us.  
“Is this better?” Her voice is husky and soothing, a different kind of familiar.  
Asra whispers a name. “Anna?”  
My aunt? That one recovered memory is where I had heard this voice.  
“Is that the face I’ve borrowed? No, I am Death. I thought this shape might put you at ease. You prefer to speak to someone with a physical form, don’t you? This form was in your mind. Associated with this place.”   
The black cat, small again, runs up to the old woman and rubs against her legs. Death sits herself down on one of the chairs at the reading table and the little cat hops into her lap and begins to knead her skirts. Death laughs and strokes the top of the cat’s head, then rubs her nose. She gestures absently at the cushions strewn haphazardly about the floor. “I also seem to recall that humans also prefer soft things to sit on.”  
Asra drags a cushion over for me and him. Julian pauses a moment then sits down opposite of Death at the table. She, notably, does not turn her face away, but folds her wrinkled hand under her chin and peers at him, gaze steady as she does.  
“You’ve tried to meet me several times, haven’t you, young man? Here I am.”  
“You . . . you’re Death. Why didn’t you help us earlier?”  
A deck of cards materializes in her hands, and she shuffles them idly. “It will be clearest if I start from the beginning. A very long time ago, the Devil approached me with a plan. He wanted to merge our realms. That I know, that I understood. Everything comes to me in time. But the Devil wants control. That-” She begins to lay the cards out in front of her. “Goes against my nature. No one can avoid me, but I do not seek to control them. I seek to give truth and sometimes the pain that comes with it, or the solace. But eventually, those in my realm are all free. I told the Devil as much.  
One by one he approached the Major Arcana. Most were indifferent. Some of us, like me, opposed his plans. But all for our own reasons. We never worked together and so, one by one, he removed us from the playing field.” She turns over cards nonchalantly tossing them on the floor. Justice, the Tower, Temperance, the Lovers, the Hierophant, finally her own card. “He used human pawns that had an affinity for us, much like your own affinity for the Hanged Man, or the Magician, or . . .” Her eyes pass from Julian to Asra, and then stop at me, crinkling into a knowing smile before she stops speaking. “He found one that had a particular affinity for me, and deal by deal corrupted them, turning them into a demon, somehow siphoning my power into them. Turning true knowledge into an endless, lacerating dissection. As they grew stronger, I grew weaker. I still can’t return to my proper form. This is the most I’ve been able to do in years.” She taps a card against her chin. “I suppose I should thank you.”  
“But if the Arcana couldn’t stop him, how am I supposed to?”  
“Why did we fail, child?”  
“You said you never worked together.”  
“That seems to be a uniquely human thing . . . working together. That brings strength greater than any single being. Your power alone isn’t enough, little Fool, even if you gave over all of yourself to it. You’ll never get close enough to him on your own. Or he’ll trick and bind you as well. But with others. Their aid -” She shuffles the cards that remain on the table back together and sets the stack between her and Julian. “It might work.”  
“It will have to.”  
She fixes me with her cool gaze. “You’ve decided then. I wish to know, why do you so willingly agree to risk yourself?”  
Asra’s arms tighten around my shoulders. I reach out and take one of Julian’s hands in mine. “It’s the right thing to do. I can’t leave people to suffer if there’s some chance I can stop it.”  
Death shrugs. “Right? Wrong? Eventually, I come for everyone. No matter what you do, eventually, we will meet again. You will face yourself and once you pass through that fire, you will suffer no more.”  
“What would you do?”  
Death’s chuckles. She’s missing teeth when she smiles. “I would be myself again. You’ve made up your mind then? All three of you? There’s no turning back once you leave here. You’ve been marked as enemies already, I fear.”  
Julian squeezes my fingers. “It is the right thing to do.”  
Asra presses his forehead against the back of my neck. “I trust you.”   
She stands and looks us over again, a bemused smile on her face. “There's not much I can give you. But there is this - rest. Sleep in the arms of those you love.” She leans over and touches my forehead. Suddenly I feel the weight of days, I don't know how many anymore, without any real sleep. The pile of cushions in the corner is suddenly overwhelmingly enticing. I sink down into it pulling Asra with me. “No nightmares.” She presses her hand to Asra's head, then turns to Julian, ruffling his hair, almost affectionately. “No dreams,” Death whispers. “Just rest, children. No time will pass in your realm, and when you wake you'll be in the Magician's realm again.” She turns, seeming to fold into herself as she does.   
Eyes heavy with Death’s spell, Julian gets out of the chair and climbs into the nest of pillows with Asra and me. He puts his head in my lap and Asra curls beside us, forehead pressed against my arm and one hand wrapping around Julian's fingers. I hear Death’s voice once more as my eyes close. A simple command. “Rest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endgame next? Maybe? God, I hope so. I'm dying here....


	16. Chunks of You Will Sink Down to Seals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Alt-J, "Tessellate"

The Masquerade is precisely as much of a wine-soaked affair as Valerius remembered. And even though he knows how extravagantly Nadia had spent – of course, he did, he’d had to sign off on all the invoices, as much as it pained him to see the barely recovered budget dropping back into the red – he can’t help but be thoroughly impressed by her largess and simultaneously cringe at it. She might have even outdone Lucio at his height, but somehow everything had come together a bit better under her hands. A somewhat less tacky outcome for the expense is something of a consolation prize. Albeit a poor one.

He’s been moving through the rooms, doing his best to avoid the other members of the court - either the three incompetents or the one that they should be worried about. He can’t decide whether that’s a blessed or cursed fact. Given what Nadia had told him, what the little witch had told him, he should be trying to find them. Maybe confine them. But he wouldn’t know where to begin with either task, and so, he can’t help but be a little grateful; no point in subjecting himself to them, and he just might not be able to hold back on punching Vulgora. Which would doubtlessly end with nothing except further humiliation on his part and potentially some broken bones. He’s never been an especially brave man. Not if he’s honest with himself.

He’s slightly proud of himself for declining an offer of wine from a servant for what must be the hundredth time. It’s an hour or so before midnight, and if he can only make it another hour past that, he can retire. Maybe have some more of the little witch’s tea, disgusting as it tastes. Try to sleep.

Compared to the other guests, his outfit is too plain, too simple for this night. Understated elegance just comes off as uninteresting among all this splendor, but it leads to him being blissfully left alone. The other guests' eyes just drift over him and to more opulent things as much as they would over a simple potted plant among a garden of colorful flowers.

Alone in the crows. Alone with his thoughts and desires. All the things he always kept hidden beneath a mask.

Almost alone.

Another masked figure has started to follow him, just a dark hooded cape and a plain, somewhat crude skull covering the face. The body beneath the fabric seems misshapen or wears something that makes the black cape drape in odd ways. Valerius has felt Death following him for years now. A vulgar guest at a vulgar party shouldn’t bother him, yes somehow the prickles at the back of his neck feel different this time.

He's still being trailed when he reaches the arcade at the side of the room. Someone with a complaint who couldn't find Nadia to voice it? He halts abruptly and spins on his heel. "Pardon me. Do you have a problem?"

"Oh, a lot of them, but I will take care of those." The voice reveals a grin that the mask hides. A grin Valerius knows so very well. “One by one.”

"Lu -" He almost says the entire name, but stops at the last moment and takes a breath in an attempt to regain his composure. "You can't be here!” He can’t be. He shouldn’t be. Doesn’t he know what kind of position this puts Valerius in - puts them all in.

"Hush.” With two shift steps, Lucio is pressed close to Valerius. “For now, I'm just a mysterious, albeit good-looking stranger very willing to drag a lonely politician somewhere nice and quiet where nobody can hear his moans." He's close with two fast steps.

"How are you -" Val gives up protesting when a hand closes around his wrist. Very warm, and very human, and very alive. Moreso, even than when Nadia had conjured him back into being for a night. "How? I don't understand." He shouldn’t be surprised - not after what he’s seen over the past two weeks, not after what the little witch told him. But he didn’t understand, and Valerius had always struggled to believe in what he doesn’t understand.

"You can blame it on sheer willpower, or on magic, or on unfinished business." Lu's so close, already pushing Val against the wall, hands, two hands eagerly touching beige and gold cloth.

The masks are still between them, and it needs to stay that way, at least for the moment, because there are still people passing in the hall, and it's bad enough if he's recognized like this. Or maybe it wouldn't be bad at all. It would take the burden of deciding just what to do - the conflict between should and want - away from Valerius. He wouldn’t have to make the call. He’d be sitting in a cell waiting for Nadia to decide how to end his ignoble life.

But both Lu's hands are on him right now, and he does not want to think about anything else. He's  _ warm _ . Lucio is so  _ warm _ as if he was alive, and it  _ can't _ be, but it impossibly  _ is _ . Lu's whispering how much he wants him, right here, right now, dick hard against Val's thigh.

He moves against Lu, feeling blood relocate to his groin and his cheeks. Not here. No, he wants to draw this out to have Lu while he can have him because there's no future in this that can remain true. No. It  _ shouldn’t _ remain true. Not if it will cost what the witches say it will, even if Val very much wants it.

"Somewhere else?" He drops his head against Lu's shoulder.  _ Yes. _ That's a heartbeat in the artery running through his neck. Did he have a heartbeat the other night? Val can’t remember now.

"Anywhere my fawn will have me."

It's a tumble into a nearby room and an impression of rainbows dancing through the air, crystals over crystals and a floor and walls of mirrors, Valerius hanging in Death's embrace over and over again. Lucio is unwilling or unable to leave his hands of him, looking for skin hidden under fabric, impatiently tearing and only hardly stopped with a slap on the hand that only makes Lu giggle madly.

The room seems to be deserted. Val pulls away long enough to throw the lock on the door; he very much wants it to remain that way. His mask has been tossed on the floor, his robes and shirt are hanging open, and Lu's already gotten his hair loose. That took even less time than he expected - than he remembered.

"Missed me, my sweet one, precious one, beloved one? Do you still?" Is there a tinge of madness in his voice, or is he just happy?

"What do you think, you fool?" Val tries to make the words sharp. He should be irritated with the pet names, the pointless nothingness of them, but he can't bring himself to be. Especially not with the last, the one that Lucio had never thrown around as carelessly as the others. Still, it's the stark skull mask that he can see. Lucio seems to have taken a liking to it, surreal between the glamour here, but in the dark caves of the sockets, the silver eyes seem to glow. Just another surreal detail in this macabre scene. "Take that damn mask off, would you?"

"And what if there is no face under the mask? And all this is just a dream? A nightmare?" Still, Lucio's laughing, and for a moment, Val thinks he'll just step back and start dancing some deranged waltz through the empty room.

Or maybe Val is the one who has gone mad, and this is a hallucination. Maybe the first? Maybe the latest in a long string? At this point, he could discover that the past three years were all a fever dream, and he's actually on the brink of dying from the plague. Dying and being pulled down to hell. By demons. With hooks.

That  _ would  _ solve the quandary of just what to do with the situation facing him.

He steps into Lu's space again, one hand flat against the left side of his chest, and the other in his loose golden hair. He could touch that at least, even with the mask.

With a little huff, Death rips off the mask himself. Lu - blessed with everything but patience. He's grinning wildly, but he's nervous, filled with electric energy that almost tingles as Val touches him. "This may go very wrong, little fawn, or very right. What do you think? Which way will my fate go?"

Valerius can't keep from laughing. Right and wrong and fate have little enough to do with each other. He shakes his head a little. "And just what is this that could go so right or so wrong?"

This is what the witches and Devorak were trying to keep from happening. Or rather they intended to stop something else by stopping Lucio from rising from the dead. Not that any of that helps him understand a damn thing about it. Better just to press himself close to Lu for however long this lasted. Give up on understanding.

"Taking back what is mine." A kiss, and another one, lips heated and eager. Lucio twirls and his cape falls over one shoulder revealing a translucent shirt and his gleaming metal arm, devoid of the sharp metal gauntlet. "Noddy will do everything to prevent it, and she seems to finally found some skill and care to actually go through with it. City’d have been in a better place if she did earlier."

"It probably would be, you insufferable peacock," Val mumbles as he returns the kiss, giving in to the fantasy that this is just a hallucination with absolutely no implications for professional ethics. "Or if you had ever actually listened to me."

"They will try to kill me again, won't they? No matter what I say or do..." His hands are on Valerius’s skin, digging gently into his flesh, one so cold and one so very warm.

Out of the corner of his eye, Val can see the mirrors multiplying their reflections into infinity. Some distorted more, some distorted left, and none of them precisely right. He’s wrapped around Lucio like a siren even though it’s not clear who is dragging whom down. "And what would you say?"

"I'm sober. I've learned. Let me try again. There's so much wrong in this palace, little fawn, you'd drown yourself in wine if you knew only half of it. I will purge it all.” Lucio’s gone insane. Or maybe, just maybe, he had been before, his mind driven into oblivion by luxury and sadness.

Val laughs against his neck.  _ Sober _ . "As if I haven't already done that."

"Valerius, my sweet, desperate friend, you don't know anything about their endeavors, or hardly anything. I had so much time to see, to listen, to witness... it's amazing what people will talk about when they think themselves unheard." Tiny little bites down his neck - a sweet, sweet distraction.

"Ah. Just -" Val slides his hand from Lu’s chest to the back of his waist, pulling them tighter together. He isn't sure he gives a damn what Lucio has discovered. He'd rather just be drunk on his warm, present body. "Just what do you know now?"

"You may -" One hand teases the consul's behind already, Lucio eager to feel the heat of life to the fullest. "Worry about that when I'm back on the throne, my fawn. If I fail... you should not worry, but leave quick and silently."

The ominous words snap him back to the reality he’s trying so hard to deny. "Back on the throne? Lu, don't you know -" He shuts his mouth because that's important, he knows it's important, at least in his right mind, but this Lu - bright and forward-focused with plans if conquering - is the one that he hasn't seen in years, not since they both got too tangled up in decadence. The one he fell in love with.

"Don't I know what, Consul?" The golden hand is between his legs, massaging Valerius' hardness, driving away the present. Lucio had been delighted to discover his ambidexterity once he had that functioning hand. Val hadn’t minded either.

Val makes a non-committal noise against Lu's neck and starts working on the buttons running down Lu's shirt. This is the first time he's even had a shirt fastened enough to be worried with, but at least it gives Val something to focus on besides the warped reflections surrounding and the things that he does know.

"No answer for your Count, Valerius?" Lucio’s voice becomes strict, and the human hand closes around Valerius' throat, pressing him against the wall.

"Lu -" Val wraps one hand around his wrist, even if he knows it'll anger him, maybe because it will. "It's - the plague - it's tied to you. Somehow. I don't understand."

"Tied? Did Jules inspi- wait. What?" The hand sinks down, hot against Val’s collarbone.

He leans his head against Lu's shoulder. "Somehow if you exist, at least, in a body -" He picks his face back up and pulls the other’s knuckles to his mouth kissing them, hating what he's saying. "Then the red plague exists. It . . . follows you. Something like that."

"Was the Plague gone when I was?" Lucio’s voice, so vibrant a moment before has gone toneless - flat. Dead.

Val presses his lips together, gulps, and nods. "And before that. If you map outbreaks, they all trailed your mercenaries. Didn’t you know?”

“No... I mean, I did, but it was only supposed to be... it wasn’t supposed to follow.” Lu stiffens, goes silent, and then his chest expands in a deep, slow breath. "Why did nobody tell me?"

No screaming. The old Lucio would have screamed, thrown things, but this one is level-headed. Maybe a bit shaken. And he knew, but what did he know? How long had he known?

"Because no one knew! At least not anyone human."

"So Asra knew," he states darkly.

"Not three years ago. I don't think. Not then." Asra is all too very human, but perhaps that doesn’t matter on this subject. He tugs Lucio against him and runs a hand through his hair, and he’s slightly shocked when Lu doesn't fight him. "No. Nothing so noble then. He only ever cared about himself."

"So he didn't even kill me for that.  _ That _ would have been a reason."

"Don't ask me to explain any of the witch's reasons. Those are just as idiosyncratic and elusive as ever."

"Oh, I know why he did it. It would just have been nice if there was any other reason on the side. Some moral high ground for just once in his sad little life."

"Queer thing to wish for him.” Val pulls Lucio’s head against his shoulder and rubs his back. “He hardly merits it."

"It would make a murder worthwhile, don't you think? Better than lying and cheating a dying man to get your dick wet again." Lucio's anger is silent. Cold.

“If you come back - back to life - the city won’t survive it, Lucio. Many more people will die. More than your gangly pet.” The motions of his fingers on Lucio’s back are as much to soothe himself as Lu.

“People always die, Val. It’s the first thing you’d have learned if you ever set foot on a battlefield. Besides, we can’t stop anything now. Too many forces are at work.” Lucio’s chest rises and falls, a heavy human breath. “Jules. They killed him. But I’ve seen him walking around. Spoke to him even. He said the same thing you did, about the Plague. But I didn’t believe him. Always prone to fantasy, that one.”

“I saw him die. I saw his body. Don’t ask me to explain how the dead are walking about.” Valerius sighs when Lucio’s pale eyes continue to demand an answer. “The trial was a farce. I tried, really. But your good friend in red managed to work the crowd into a blood frenzy, and Nadia had gotten it into her head to let the mob decide." The exasperation in his voice turns to bitterness. "Didn't end too well for your pet."

"Nadia did  _ what _ ? Doesn’t she at least know that a crowd is half as wise as its dumbest member?" Lucio groans. "If she should have learned anything from the years with me, then that's what!"

"Prakra does trials by jury, but those are small panels. I don't remember exactly how everything went down, I wasn't in the best of states."

"You can't leave that woman alone for five minutes when she's not busy wasting my money, for fuck's sake! But he's not dead, now is he?" This seems about the worst topic to keep an erection upright, as enthusiastic as it may have been. 

"No. He's not. And you are both spectacular at wasting money." He finds Lu's mouth and kisses him again - hard - because surely this can't last for long. This is another dream, another layer of the alcohol and the drugs leaving his mind, and if he can have Lucio in it, he'd rather not spend the time before the nightmares return relitigating past mistakes. "I rather miss scolding you about it."

"But Val, I'm the bad guy in this. I get to do things worth getting scolded for. And you... were quite good at scolding. Always wondered if you'd ever try to give me a good spanking so I'd learn." A little grin sneaks its way back onto the Count's features.

"I think -" Val rolls his eyes and smacks Lu's rear. "It would take rather more than a spanking."

"Ow!" The blond purses his lips into a mock pout. "And what would the cruel consul do with me so I learn?"

"A belt is, of course, classic." He grabs Lu's shoulders then spins them both around so that Lucio is the one with his back shoved against the mirrored wall. "As much as you mess up my hair a brush might be more appropriate." He nudges aside the cravat hanging loose around his neck and kisses the edge of his jaw, feeling himself beginning to harden again.

"Wouldn't it be the back of the brush then, with me hanging over the knee, butt high in the air?" The black cloak glides down to the floor and pools around their feet. White and gold underneath.

"Sounds as though you might enjoy that too much." He buries one hand in blond hair and pulls Lucio's head to the side, works his mouth down the side of the count's neck, running his tongue of the pulsing artery.

"I would hate it if you did that. Telling me firmly that my spending habits can impossibly continue like that." A mad giggle. He's getting hard again as well, erection pressing against Valerius’s leg. 

Lu in his bad days wouldn't have allowed the idea of not being dominant no matter how playful and silly the scenario was, and his current lack of seriousness in that regard is refreshing - water cooled by mountain ice. Something Val can actually feel after the haze of the past days.

He pins Lucio's wrist to the mirror behind them and turns Lucio's face to him, gripping the count's chin firmly between his thumb and index finger. "Well, you can't. Especially after this soiree of Nadia's." Leans in closer then, grinding his thigh between Lu's and kisses him roughly, dragging his teeth over the other's lower lip as he pulls back.

"Did she beat my parties? Was it more luxurious than what I did? Did the whole town dance for her?" There’s a manic giddiness in Lucio’s voice. “Is it talking finance that makes you like this? I like it. I should have listened to your homilies earlier.” 

"Why do I feel like you still have some plan to upstage her?"

"I will do what I have to do." Lucio’s face breaks into a wide grin. "Last chance I got."

Last chance. Yes, it might well be that, and Val’s still not sure whether he wants it to be a last dance, a final goodbye, or if - in the deepest recesses of his heart - that he wants Lucio to succeed, to come back to life, to come back to him. Val kisses him again, not as hard but longer, and when he breaks away all he can see are the grotesque, twisted reflections surrounding them like so many nightmares. "I don't like the mirrors." Lu probably does. Always enjoyed any excuse to look at himself.

"Look at me then, my fawn. Only reflection that counts is the one in my eyes anyway." It sounds so sincere it's almost not cheesy.

The dead man’s moods are shifting quickly. Lust. Anger. Sentimentality. Only the slight tinge of worry remains. It's as though he knows there's a limit, that this will all end, all too soon, and he needs to experience as many emotions within that time as he can. Val leans his head against his shoulder, laughing a little from the absurdity of the entire scenario. Besides, besides, Lucio is right, there are too many forces at work, ones that Val can’t possible understand for him to do anything to stop them now.

"And what do you see in my eyes, Lu?"

"An actual body..." It's half a whisper. The whole thing is as little real to him as it is to the consul.

"Yes." Val brushes his lips over Lu's neck again, then lower, to his collarbone, chest - muscled again, not weakened from illness - pushing aside the linen shirt and trailing fingers and lips slowly over the flesh, like this is some dream or enchantment. Not like.  _ Is.  _ “We could leave.”

“What?”

“Anywhere other than here. Just keep moving. Visit all those places, those old battlefields you told me about.”

Lu laughs, undoes a couple more of the buttons on his shirt, and laughs again. “Oh Val, you still don’t understand.” He presses their foreheads together. “There’s no way to stop this now. There is something I want to give to you. A keepsake. You deserve it. I know now that you do." And still, he's quick to strip out of his trousers, hard and eager like a young man again. “Something of me to keep. You wanted that, didn’t you? When you came to me that night?”

Sometimes Valerius is slightly distressed by just how easy it is to get out of the clothes that he favors, or at least, how easy it is to get them out of the way. As if that aspect of his sartorial choices says something about him and not necessarily something good. Fortunately, the situations that cause such thoughts to arise - amongst other things - also quickly distract from them.

And the sight, the feel of Lucio's skin beneath his hands after so long is enough to distract him from pretty much anything, including whatever Lu is saying about giving him some keepsake.

"You're not listening, Val. You're not at all listening. Nobody ever is..." Another giggle, somehow way darker than before. "It's not like I didn't tell them. Always did. I don't die so easily..."

"What should I be hearing then?" His voice  _ sounds _ desperate. Val  _ feels _ desperate, caught between two desires that are impossible to reconcile with each other. "That you refuse to die? That you will have what you want consequences be damned? What do I deserve to hear?” Is the question for Lucio? Or one for himself. He hardly knows at this point.

Lucio buries his hands in Val’s ombre hair and drags the consul's head close. Whispers something in his ear that made the pale brown eyes open wide. Was he serious? Lucio grins at him. Kisses his forehead. "Do you understand why this is important for you, little fawn?"

"Tempter." Val sinks against him. It's too nice of an idea, keeping the one he loves. This has to be a trap. Something that's going to pull him back into this nonsense with this Devil and plagues, and any scraps of honor he might have recovered are going to dissipate again into cloudy, drunken pleasure. "Because you've always been what I loved more than I should."

"Me or wine, or me and wine. It always was a hard decision for you. But I need you sober, at least decently so. I know it is hard." Little kisses like summer rain on the drought that is the consul's skin.

“Lu-” Valerius can't stop himself laughing aloud at the comment. Too ironic. "Lu, I haven't been this sober in years."  _ And even seeing clearly, I want you, still. _

"Your hand, my fawn."

Still, Lucio smiles, but his face is... not that of a different man. That would be too much. It's the face the consul remembers from back when they both were young and the Prakrian court not yet held influence over them, back when the beautiful barbarian had just decided to make the young consul his confidant and lover. His hand lies down on his chest. Closes there, like he's picking something up.

Val opens his own hand - palm up, fingers curled - and dammit, he's still shaking a little. Maybe that's just the fact that the inner rooms of the palace are cool, and Lu has yet again gotten him half out of his clothes. Yes. That makes more sense. He grips the count's hip with his free hand. Keep him close.  _ The bastard. _

The little trinket the dead man places there is a small pendant cast in bronze. Four small white shapes are embedded in a metal knotwork that vaguely resembles a beetle. Pearls of ivory? No. Val cringes a little as he recognizes what they are. Small, slightly pointed teeth, the eye teeth of a child. A wolf cub’s fangs.

"Keep that safe for me, will you? And the name attached to it."

Val turns the pendant over in his hand, wondering a little at who would think to make something like that, or if it was a custom of the tribe Lucio had spent his life running from. The angular engravings on the back aren't any familiar alphabet, but he can guess what they mean. 

"I thought you hated that name."

"I do. But it is a part of me yet, and I think it's the one you love. What was before Noddy and all the fun depravity." There are smile lines around his eyes, and maybe for the first time, the consul realizes that Lucio, too, has grown older.

Val feels his mouth drop open a little. All the years that had passed all the things that had been done badly or not at all. He wants to go backward in time. They could make different choices, wiser ones perhaps that wouldn't lead to this disaster. It hadn't been inevitable. Nothing ever is.

He's no magician though, and that can't be. Instead, he fastens the chain around his neck trying and failing to not catch his hair. Hissing a bit when it pulls.

"Let me do that."

It's not fastening the necklace Lucio means though, but the hair pulling, and before he can steady himself, he finds his body cinched between a wall and a hard place, and the Count digging teeth into the muscles of his throat.

His hiss turns to a gasp, then a moan as he lets himself sink against Lucio's chest. His robe is falling off his shoulder, and god, he hopes someone swept the floor, not that it matters because Lucio is clearly intending to leave a mark that won't be easily covered up. And Val does not care. Not a single one iota.

Then, unavoidably, they're making love, just to be that little bit closer to each other. It's not the madness of the dead man when the ritual brought him back, so starved for every touch and taste, but a Lucio who remembers how it is to guide with a gentle hand. Better than wine. He was always better than wine.

* * *

Lucio begins putting his clothes back in order while Valerius is still catching his breath. He stretches out his back with a groan and leans over Val, running the cool fingers of his metal hand over Val’s face, then replacing it with warm lips. “The next act is about to begin, my beloved.” He growls, just a little - feral side reemerging from wherever it has been hidden - as his lips press again to Val’s. “You don’t want to miss it.”

Then he’s gone in a swirl of black velvet, leaving Valerius on the floor in a pool of silks. Val drops his head back against the marble tiles and reality creeps back into him as the cool of the stone soaks into his sweaty scalp. Lucio. The Devil. The Red Plague. How many days ago had Nadia cornered him in his office? Not so many. And how had he answered her then? It seems so long ago.

_ I don’t intend to harm the city. _

_ Dammit. _

* * *

Valerius finds Nadia as the bell tolls a quarter of an hour until midnight. She’s in the ballroom, surrounded by her sisters and parents. Not for the first time that night, Valerius wonders whether it’s foolishness or vanity demonstrated by the entirety of Prakra’s imperial family to gather in a single foreign court. What must it be like to believe that one was untouchable by the whims of fate and poor fortune? It’s been ages since he’d felt that.

“Countess.” He tries to keep his voice steady, even as he’s projecting over the tall shoulders blocking him from Nadia and violating any unknown number of rules of order. “I need to speak with you.”

The Empress of Prakra turns from her youngest daughter. Her gaze fixes his feet to the floor, and for a moment he’s a boy being scolded for his violation of etiquette. “Your majesty, forgive me. But I must speak with the Countess.”

Nadia touches her mother’s hand then readjusts her mask. Is she nervous? What else has transpired while he was distracted. “Consul? What is it?”

Valerius looks from one royal to the other. All of their faces are serious behind their masks. Or the ones who remain masked. The militant one and the doctor’s faces are bare and especially grim. How much do they know already? How much can they be trusted? “Perhaps a little more in private.” 

“My mother will remain with us.” Some signal passes between the Empress and her consort, and Namar gathers his other daughters with a joke and a suggestion that they haven’t yet fully explored the offering on  _ that _ table, one that is only just barely out of earshot. Valerius suspects that is one of his primary functions at the court, diffusing tension and redirecting eyes. A useful skill, to be fair.

“Well, Valerius, what do you need to tell me?”

“Lucio, he’s back. Somehow, in the flesh.”

“You’ve seen him.” Nadia’s eyes narrow behind her mask, and Valerius suspects that she can see every sin that he’s ever committed - not just the ones of the past hour.

Valerius can feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. “Yes. I - Nadia, I should have done something, tried to stop him, but...”

“Whatever you did or didn’t do is past, Consul. We’re only moving forward from this point; in any way that we are able to.” She pinches the bridge of her nose and looks over to her mother. For guidance? The Empress only nods for the Countess to continue. 

Nadia takes a deep breath and bites her lower lip. “Have you seen the other members of the court? If possible, we need to arrest them. The Devil has made his move -”

Valerius can’t help himself. He starts laughing. Doubles over with it even. He wishes he had the wine to blame it on, the wine or anything - anything other than the absurdity of it all. “Perhaps I should be the first, your Excellency.”

The air in the ballroom grows heavy - more stifling than can be explained by the confined space, and the bells begin to toll midnight. The music stops and a hush falls over the ballroom. Little gasps of surprise begin to fill the silence, followed by outright cries of shock. Heads turn as all the attention in the ballroom is draw to the top of the stairs by some irresistible force. Val feels his heart fall to his stomach, and his hand closes around the bronze of the amulet hidden beneath his clothes.

Lucio. In all his glory. White and red and gold, and the sharp claws of his gauntlet, trailed by two dumb hounds dancing about in absolute delight.

“Vesuvia! I have returned to you!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Val, Val, Val....


	17. And Burning Wreckage Spins in a Waltz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title (badly) translated from [Bi-2. Lyotchik](https://youtu.be/ZxmQjHGtuVg).

Death spoke true when she promised peaceful sleep. This might be the most rested I’ve ever felt. The light and air seeping under the door are warmer than they were in Death’s realm. Warm as summer. Maybe even warmer. Were it not for the light under the door coming from the wrong angle, and the draft flowing in the opposite of the direction it should, and the charred skull on a shelf against the wall, I could convince myself that this really is my shop, and that I’m waking from a nap. No, this is just an imitation. A mimicry that doesn’t get the details quite right.

Julian is already awake. He’s sitting with his legs pulled up to his chest, holding one of the smaller pillows and looking down at Asra and me. I sit up and stretch my arms and neck. I’m almost too scared to speak. “Hey you.” But mumbled words don’t seem to break the spell. 

He sets the pillow aside, and a smile plays at the corner of his mouth. “Hey yourself.”

I reach out for his hand. He curls his fingers around mine and runs his thumb over my knuckles. The smile flees and a little line forms between his brows. 

Asra stirs and mumbles something before rolling over and curling his hand underneath his chin. I stroke his hair. “I don’t want to wake him up.” Asra may be better at sleeping than either Julian or I, but that doesn’t mean that he gets enough. Certainly not in recent days.

“I don’t either,” Julian whispers. He shifts around until he’s sitting next to me and drapes one arm over my shoulders. I lean against him as he taps his fingers against my collarbone. “So, this is it, eh. All hero shit from here on out. No going back.”

“I’m scared too.”

His arm tightens around me, and I feel his lips press against the top of my head. “I saw what it did to him. To lose you once. I don’t want that to happen again.” 

“Julian -” Whatever I had intended to respond is lost as Asra wakes, rolling back over and sitting up. He rubs at his eyes and looks confused for a minute.

“What? Where are we?” He looks around at the right quite right room, blinking sleep from his eyes. “Oh. That wasn’t all a dream, was it?”

“No, sweetheart.” My heart tightens as the words sink into it. “No, it wasn’t.”

Asra lays his hand just over my heart, fingertips pressing against soft skin. “I was afraid you’d say that.” 

I squeeze his fingers, push aside his hand and get up from the cozy collection of cushions. In the front room of the shop, I can’t check the habit of checking that everything is in its place, even if everything here is just a facsimile of reality. No. It’s a facsimile of our reality. All is as it should be. That has its own terrible reality. 

The door opens out onto the Magician’s dazzling, iridescent beach. It should terrify me too. Sand that is and is not. Sun that warms skin that I don’t really have. But I beckon Asra and Julian after me. The waves are sparkling, tantalizing, and everything else is so awful that I can’t resist taking a few moments to dip my feet in. My bare feet. When did I lose my shoes?

Asra breaks into a huge grin and follows me into the surf with a gleeful whoop while Julian pauses to roll up the legs of his pants - we’ve all apparently lost our shoes. It’s a pointless gesture as Asra scoops up water and broadsides him with a splash. He quickly follows on the first attack with one directed at me, and shortly, all three of us are tossing water at each other, drunk from the sun and shouting challenges at it. 

The water battle ends with Asra straddling Julian’s waist, pinning him at the edge of the surf by his wrists, and peppering his face with kisses until their lips meet. Salt water soaks Julian to the bone, and the waves lapping around him only continue the process, turning his shirt translucent and highlighting every wiry muscle in his body. Julian remains motionless when Asra lets go of his wrists and runs his hands over his arms, stopping at the middle of his chest. He leans down over Julian again, claiming another kiss. 

They might have been happy together, if I had never existed, rather than having haunted them both....

I didn’t mean to haunt them. I didn’t mean anything. I was dead. If I still was, maybe my ghost would have left them. With time. Let them be like this, tangled in each other.

I shouldn’t be able to sit on a piece of driftwood and enjoy the sun in whatever time I have. The tide is coming in and waves threaten to wash over Julian’s face, prompting the two of them to leave the surf and join me. With a yawn, Asra sits down facing me, legs folded, one knee touching Julian’s, and the sea at his back. Julian collapses beside me and lays his head on my knee. I run my fingers through his hair, working a spell to pull the salt water out of our clothes and hair and break the happy spell we’ve been under with my words. “So, what’s next? Do we go find the Devil now?”

“I could see if I can find the Magician, he might know -” Asra looks around and then up, like he’ll find the answer written in the sky. “But I suspect the Devil will find us.”

Julian straightens up and shakes his hair back into its usual state. “Listen, I think I have a plan, a way to get you and Dema set up to take him down -”

“Ilya, what are you -”

Almost on cue, lightning cuts through the sky and strikes the sea; a roll of thunder follows closely in its wake. A second bolt of lightning hits the ocean in front of us, boiling the water away. Julian clutches at my legs, and Asra’s spin stiffens. 

When the steam clears, the Devil stands on the seafloor, shaking his head slowly. “Dema, Dema, just what have you been up to? Releasing my prisoners, then picking a fight with my compatriot. It would have gone so better for you if you had just stayed out of the way.”

With a sudden, fluid movement, Julian twists away from me, onto his hands and feet, weight on his toes, a runner at the starting block, while Asra and I are still stumbling to our feet. “What the fuck is it that you want?”

“Want? It’s quite simple. Everything.” The Devil raises his hands, and chains lash out towards us. Asra responds with an arch of seawater, freezing it into a shield. The first chain crashes through the ice, but its velocity breaks; the links fall to the sand, several feet from us. I concentrate on recalling the sensations that took me over when Valdemar’s chain broke. I can almost feel them. The clarity of chill, winter air. Snowflakes melting in eyelashes. The drizzling vertigo of a trust fall into a friend’s arms.

I  _ need _ whatever power I had before. I  _ need _ it and it’s not quite there. Not quite where I can grasp it. Not quite enough to break the chain. 

But enough to form an arc of light that I fling out from me, intercepting the second chain. The chain doesn’t break, but whatever I managed reflects it back toward the Devil. His eyes go wide, and he quickly dodges out of its trajectory. Would his own chain somehow have injured him? 

“Asra,” I hiss. “did you see that?” Is what I saw something real? Can we use it? I don’t have much else in the way of ideas right now. Asra gives me the slightest of nods before the Devil bellows.

“Enough of this.” He kneels down and plunges his claws into the sea floor. Flames burst from the sand, surrounding us with walls of fire. I scream and force a wave of water against the flames, before my blood pounds too loud in my ears, and I topple against Asra’s chest. The water did no good. Asra’s arms catch me; he whispers in my ears, but I can’t process enough words for his speech to make sense.

The Devil’s laugh pierces the roar in my head. “You’re not smart enough to be scared of much, are you, Dema? But fire - oh, I have that one thing that does terrify you.” 

He rises back up and extends his hands in front of him. Explosions of light burst from his claws, and the world tilts crazily around me. Chains twist around me wrenching me from Asra’s grip and slamming me onto a ground that has turned from sand to glass. I clutch at the links I can find, even as I feel my mind starting to fall apart, consumed by the pounding terror in its deepest levels, and some of the links shatter, shards of metal digging into my hands, only to be replaced by more chain slamming heavily aside my back. I try to reach out for Asra or Julian, but I can’t push past the burning metal to reach them.

“Dema!”

The roaring and the light fade - just a little, and I struggle to sit up, and only manage to curl on my side and convince my eyes to open. Asra and Julian are caught in the Devil’s chains, arms bound tight to their sides. The sand has turned to glass beneath my cheek and it trembles as the Devil steps to me, and leans down, running a sharp claw across my cheek. I can feel a blister bubbling up beneath it.

“The three of you really have been making a nuisance of yourselves, haven’t you?”

“Why are you doing this?” Asra’s voice strains into something near a shriek.

“Why?” The Devil looms over me with his talons resting on my neck, but he shifts, turning his head to Asra. “Certainly you know better than to think that an immortal creature needs a _ why _ to do anything. Boredom suffices.”

“Bored!” Julian shouts, exasperation coloring his intonation. Maybe a little bit beyond natural.  _ What is he doing? _ “You’re doing this because you’re bored? Oh, get a hobby!”

The Devil runs his hand over my neck, claws burning marks into my skin. The piteous cry I manage from the searing burn doesn’t match the scream I actually feel. How long will it take before they burn to the bone?  _ Through the bone. _ Asra’s yell sounds like it’s miles away, even though I know that he’s only a few feet from me. The Devil stands and straightens his stole before responding to Julian. “But, you see,  _ this _ is my hobby. And you are - I’m quite afraid - very much in my way. It would be so much simpler if you just admitted that you can’t win.”

Julian’s brows drop low over his eyes in very, very genuine anxiety. He bites his lower lip, drops his face and then looks straight at me. “I love you.” His voice is almost too quiet to hear. He turns his head to Asra. “Both of you.” 

“Julian.” Saying his name pulls at the burns on my cheek and neck, but it’s worth it, even as my stomach twists into its own chains with the realization that I’m  _ not going to like _ whatever Julian does next.

“Ilya, don't -” A chain loops around Asra's neck and strangles his protest.

“How sentimental, but I grow tired of this.” The Devil flicks his wrist, and I shriek as his chains cut deeper into me. 

“Wait!” Julian’s voice cuts through the darkness overtaking my vision. “You like deals? I have one for you.”

The chains around me loosen as the Devil’s attention returns to Julian. “A deal? Now you want to deal?” His sadistic laugh burns almost as badly as his chains. “What do you want from me?”

“End the plague for good. Get rid of Lucio -” Julian pauses and clears his throat. “If that's what it takes. Return Dema's body to her, send her and Asra back to our realm, and swear that you won't harm them again. Ever.”

The Devil strokes his beard. “That’s quite a lot to ask. You may not care for the price.”

“I’ll pay it. Whatever it is.”

But for the sharp teeth, the Devil’s smile could almost be described as friendly. “For that, nothing less than your soul will do. And even then, one soul? That's not so much.”

“You need me. A Hanged Man? All the better if I cooperate, right? That’s part of it, the Hanged Man submitting to be sacrificed? Here I am.” Julian can’t hold his hands out at his side in surrender, but his shoulders go loose, all the fight falling from him.

For a moment, the Devil is very quiet, very still, and I brace myself expecting some new and horrible attack. “Very well.” The Devil snaps his fingers and the chains around me dissolve into ash. Asra’s arms are around me a moment later, picking me up from the floor, cool hands soothing away the burns on my face and neck. I shakily get to my feet, clinging to Asra’s arms. Chains still wrap around Julian, binding him tight, scorching the fabric of his shirt. 

“Julian, how could -”

“I had to, Dema,  _ trust me. _ ”

“Touching,” the Devil comments. “But I believe that I’ll collect now.”

My hands clench into entirely useless fists, and I try to step toward the Devil; Asra barely manages to catch me before I fall. “How do I know you’ll keep your end of the bargain?”

“Oh, come now -” His slitted eyes roll. “You know that I can’t break my word.” He flicks his wrist and the chains around Julian jerk, nearly pulling him to his knees.

“Wait!” The pitch of my voice rises in desperation. “Just give me a minute. Let me say goodbye. A minute.”

The Devil turns to me, an inscrutable expression on his face. “Never say I didn’t do something for you.”

The walls of red flame dissipate around us. We’re still on the beach, but the fire has melted the sand around us, burning still at the soles of my feet. Julian’s chain loosen just enough to free his arms but remain tangled around his feet. The ocean still boils away from the Devil, leaving behind blackened sand. He’s waiting and watching and making a show of picking at his talons.Wordlessly, Asra embraces him, pressing his face against Julian’s chest. “Ilya, I -” Julian buries his face in Asra’s hair for a moment and runs his hand over his shaking back. He looks back up and holds his other hand out to me without letting go of Asra.

I take it and step closer to him, pulling his hand to my mouth to kiss his palm. “Why did you do that?” 

He cups my cheek tenderly, fingers brushing over the place where the Devil’s claws had left their marks. “I can't stand the thought of you being hurt anymore, or worse . . . Or the idea of Asra being alone. Not if there was some other way. But this is it.  _ Trust me. _ The way.” He runs his thumb over my bottom lip, and glances back up and over his shoulder, where the Devil still looms and listens. He speaks his next line louder - an actor on stage. “The two of you were happy before you ever met me. Be happy again.”

“Dammit, Ilya.” Asra pushes away from Julian, almost violently. “There would have been something we could have done.”

“This is for the best,  _ trust me. _ ” Julian shakes his head. The regret on his features seems honest. “I’m so sorry. Just, please, forgive me.” He leans over and kisses me, before pulling Asra back to him.

The chains around Julian’s ankles tighten, pulling him off balance. I look up at the Devil, my free hand clutching into a fist. Twisted iron gates rise out of the seafloor behind him.

“Come along now, Julian. I have a rather important appointment to keep.”

Julian doesn’t resist as the chains pull him back. I hang around to his hand as long as I can, mumbling endearments. Beside me, Asra breathes hard. “I will find you, Ilya. I swear.”

As Julian’s fingers slip from mine, the world around me disappears into a silvery mist.

* * *

When the silver mist that coalesced around me fades I'm back in the ballroom of the Palace, sprawled on the parquet floor, but very much in my body. I groan and twitch my fingers and toes, sit up slowly, look down at my hands and arms. My body - scars, tattoos, and all - whatever that means - the body that’s wearing a costume Nadia had selected and makeup that Asra had so carefully applied. Past and present and is there even a future?

“Thief!” A nasal voice screams beside me. I push myself to my hands and knees. I can just make out Lucio's ghostly form in front of me. He looks confused more than outraged, like he had been waiting for something to go wrong, but this wasn’t it. Mercedes and Melchior circle that spot of air and whine pitifully. “What is this? What did you do?”

I rub my temples. What was Julian thinking? He wasn't thinking. Or he was overthinking. Portia is going to kill him. And then probably Asra and me for getting him into this mess in first place.  _ Asra _ \- where’s Asra? He should have been sent back to his body, wherever Muriel was hiding with it. Around us, guests dance on, caught in some horrid. 

“Aren't you listening to me? Didn't you hear what I'm going to do to you?” Lucio continues to rant. I hold up both hands in the rudest gesture I can call to mind. 

Lucio begins running through a list of epithets, the pitch of his voice rising along with his rage. Then the half light around him flickers, and he goes silent. Other voices, much older voices circle, surrounding us with whispers. Melchior growls and snaps at empty air. Mercedes whines and tucks her tail between her legs before cowering against me. I wrap my arms around her neck, grateful to have something to hold onto as the sibilant voices get closer.

_ “It's time, Lucio.” _

_ “We've come to collect.”  _

_ “You've promised us sustenance and yet our bellies remain empty.” _

“No, wait, just give me a little more time. I'll pay you what I owe. All of it - more! I -”

_ “You said that last year.” _

“But I have a patron now.”

_ “And the year before that.” _

One of the voices shakes with laughter.  _ “No, Montag, you pay us now.” _

Four faint flickering shapes surround Lucio's ghost, then start to close their circle, moving slowly closer and closer in. Lucio struggles as the amorphous shapes wind about his remaining limbs. Finally, he strikes a pose that could even be called dignified and shakes his head with a little laugh - like he knows something they don’t. They collapse into some sort of chasm that swallows Lucio whole. Melchior howls and paws at the floor as if he can break through to his master. Mercedes continues to whine and press against me, and I bury my face in her soft fur, trying to forget whatever it was that I just witnessed. 

“Dema!” I hear Asra's voice and raise my head. “Dema, what are you doing? Are you alright?” He kneels down on the other side of Mercedes, ignoring Melchior's distressed pacing. Muriel looms behind him with Inanna by his side. Faust appears from his sash and sways toward me, testing the air around me with her tongue.

_ “Friend!” _

“I'm okay. Asra, Lucio he -”

“What about him? Why are his dogs here?”

“He's gone, Asra. Some . . . things came for him. Took him away. Something about a debt.”

Asra peers into my eyes - nose nearly touching mine - and blinks several times. Then he bursts into laughter. “A debt? He owed a debt to demons, and they took him when he couldn't pay!”

Mercedes puts her head in my lap and looks up at me with miserable, mismatched eyes. I rub her ears. There’s a canine sigh, and then a heavy weight on my shoulder as Melchior sits behind me and peers over at his sister. “Asra.”

“Sorry, sorry. It's just a fitting end. Consumed by his own greed. But enough with that. We need to stop this ritual.”

“It's too late.” Muriel holds out a charm. One of the twig and twine ones he and Asra use for protection in the forest. But the twine on this one is unraveling, disintegrating into fibers as I watch. “The ritual already started.”

“What does that mean?”

“The Devil must have gathered most of the people he needs then.” Asra looks over at Muriel, who is very stubbornly refusing to look at me. “We should be safe from the compulsion, at least while that charm holds.”

Muriel clears his throat and stands. “Won’t be long then.”

“Asra -” My fingers tighten in the loose fabric of his sleeve. “Look.”

Around us, the masquerade guests have continued to dance. The music has become discordant and picked up a fast tempo, but the dancers appear unable to stop. Shoes have been lost and feet have begun to bleed and they continue in a frenzy, drawing closer around us. Melchior's circling has kept them back so far.

“The ritual must be affecting everyone.”

“We need to get out of here.” I stand and pull Asra to his feet. 

One of the dancers gets close enough for their fingers to brush against my arm and I shudder. “Dance with us.” Their mouth strains into a rictus grin. “Join us.”

The closest door is to the right, but we'll have to push through. Asra keeps my hand in his and grabs Muriel's hand with his other. Inanna jumps in front growling and shoving aside dancing bodies. Mercedes follows me, shuffling backwards as she snaps at anyone following from behind. After a moment, Melchior follows her lead, guarding our backs as we force our way out of the ballroom. Asra quickly closes the door behind us, and Muriel shoves a marble top table in front of the doors to block them. We pause for a moment, staring at each other and trying to catch our breath.

Asra takes my hand and hurries us through the halls away from the ballroom. There are fewer guests here, but those we pass behave the same as the ones in the ballroom, crying out for us to join them and grabbing at our clothes. The dogs snarl and bite, keeping them at a safe distance.

“I never thought I'd be glad to have those hounds around,” Asra mutters as we turn a corner and are confronted with a solid line of delirious guests. More than two dogs and a wolf can possibly keep at bay. Muriel pulls aside a wall hanging with a shove of his shoulder, pushes open a hidden door. “This way.”

All of us, hounds included, squeeze into a narrow stairway. 

Asra breathes a sigh of relief. “How did you know there was a passageway here.”

“I remembered,” Muriel says simply.

“Where do we go now?”

“Up.” Muriel starts to climb, Melchior pushing in front of him and bounding up the stairs. At least they know where they’re going. 

Asra takes my hand in his. He shivers and I rub his knuckles with my thumb. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m starting to feel the compulsion kicking in. Are you?”

“I don’t think so... no. Maybe it doesn’t affect me?”

Muriel finally pushes open a second door. It leads directly into Lucio’s bed chamber. The hounds bark happily and scramble up onto Lucio’s bed. I wish I were as dumb and happy.

“With Lucio gone - how is this even still happening?”

“The ritual was never actually about him. He was just a means for the Devil to act in the world. Gather everyone else.”

“And so he became completely superfluous.” The corners of Asra’s eyes crinkle a bit as he states the words. No, Lucio isn’t necessary. Asra is the more valuable pawn. 

“How do we stop it now though?” Muriel pulls one of his charms out from a fold in his cloak. More threads and twigs have broken. Inanna whines and pushes her nose against his side until he reaches down and rubs the back of her neck.

“Asra, how did you sabotage the ritual before?” As I ask the question, Muriel’s eyes meet mine. Go dark. He knows the answer. Even if he’s going to wait for Asra to say it.

“I -” Asra squeezes his eyes shut tightly as he tries to recall the past. Faust slides up his shoulder and flicks her tongue at his ear Asra strokes Faust’s head. His fingers tremble. “My blood, in the wine, bound the power of the ritual to me. And... and a pinch of your ashes. I don’t know if this is the same. But if the Devil needs to control it this time, maybe we could bind it to someone else? Use the opposite of his blood?”

“Does an Arcanum even have blood?” I can feel a laugh beginning to bubble on my lips. This is all too absurd. In a moment, I’ll wake up, still drunk from drinking too much moonshine. It’ll be the night of the new moon, and the other half of my bed will be cold because yet again Asra left me to go on some journey.

“What’s the opposite of the Devil’s blood?” Muriel’s voice is soft and serious beside me. 

“Wouldn’t have to be blood just, his essence - his power, like blood is for a human person in blood magic. And his opposite... Dema, that’s you.”

My chest shakes from a nervous laugh. “Or so the Star said.” Supposedly the Arcana can’t lie. But I’ve learned too much to take them at face value.

“Asra.” Muriel crouches down beside him and whispers. “You've been down this road before.”

Asra turns toward him, lips pressed into a thin, defensive line. “Magic itself is neutral. Good, evil those are only a matter of intent.” His eyes come back to me. “Dema, if we can get your blood into the wine, everyone who drinks it will have a touch of your magic. It might be enough to break the Devil's hold and negate the ritual.” He takes my hand in his and runs his thumb over my knuckles. “I don't like asking this of you, my love. But -”

I look over at the charm Muriel is holding. More of it has unraveled and the twigs have started to smolder. “I don't know what else we can try.”

Muriel coughs loudly. The charm disintegrates in his hand, and he shudders. “Can you feel that?” 

As Asra nods, Muriel rips the painting of Lucio on the wall and heaves it to the side, revealing the stairs and the passage down to the cursed dining room. He stoops to enter the passage, but Asra grabs his hand and pulls him back, embracing him tightly. Muriel blushes and then loops one arm around Asra, returning the hug with more intensity than I expected.

Asra turns back to me as Muriel disappears, with Inanna trailing after him. He takes his mask off and sets it aside on the foot of the bed. Asra closes his eyes and exhales slowly. “If we can stop this, there'll be some way to find Julian.”

“How are we going to get my blood in the wine?”

He glances around the room, and his lips press together into a thin line. “I have an idea. Faust?” Faust curls along his arm. Asra’s lips tighten in concentration and then, as I watch, the light around her shimmers, and she disappears. Asra relaxes, and she appears again. He reaches in his sash and retrieves a tiny glass vial. “That spell takes all my concentration, but if you can distract the Devil, Faust should be able to slip your blood in the wine.”

“Oh, I’ve got a few things to say to him.”

Asra chuckles. “I thought you might.” His face becomes serious again. “We will find Julian. I promise.”

“Asra.” I grab his waist and pull him to me, pressing myself against his chest. Faust coils around my shoulders and then Asra’s, squeezing us tightly together. I can hear our hearts beating in tandem, as he runs a hand over my hair and back.

“My heart,” he whispers in my ear, then pulls away from me, glancing at the charm. “We don’t have long.” 

I nod and hold my left hand out to Faust. She looks back and forth from me to Asra, then opens her mouth and extends her fangs.  _ Sorry _ .

“It’s okay, Faust, go ahead.”

She clamps her mouth around my ring finger. I hiss as her fangs pierce the skin then hold my hand still while Asra collects a few drops of blood in the vial. 

Something about the proportions in my hand catches my eye as Asra presses the vial against my pricked finger. The length of the first joint plus the length of the first and second joint make the length of the finger. The finger plus... Ratios. Roughly, because math only approximates nature, but it's ordering is still access, still power, command. It directs the universal into motion, makes it comprehensible. Creates meaning and order from chaos. Like I showed Julian in the tower, the sigils that accessed those approximations, concentrated and directed that...

“Quick, Asra, I need a quill and ink.”

“What?”

“We don’t have time.” I roll backwards across the bed, disturbing the dogs, and rummage through the side drawer of the table. There’s a quill and an ink bottle, amongst several decidedly unhelpful things. The ink is even still good.

I dip the quill in the ink and suck in a breath, trying to steady myself enough to draw cleanly on my hand. Two dots, at the intersection of where lines drawn straight down between my indeed and middle finger and my ring and little finger would intersect with horizontal lines that approximated the golden ratio. Not perfect, but the best I could manage without my compass. And how would a compass construction work on the curving surface of a hand? A question for another time. An eye motif at the center, with pupil left out, because it feels right, and completing it will activate the spell. There's powerful magic in seeing and being seen. A rough skull where my palm meets my wrist, over the pulsating veins and arteries and the quill scratches a little deep. No matter, if this works, I may have it properly tattooed later. A souvenir. Connect them. A single line from the skull to the eye. Branching into two lines to the dots, then doubling to my finger branching again to the forest joint, again to the second, again to the tip. A world tree of sorts, fractals multiplying into infinity, pushing out whatever it is in my blood and bones and being that breaks the devil's chains. And perhaps pulling back something from infinity, because there isn't enough of me for this task.

I pass the quill to Asra and hold out my right palm. “The other. Quickly. As close as you can get.”

He's biting his lip, eyebrows pressed together, and trembling from the effort it takes to resist the compulsion spell. “There's no time to explain, Asra. Just do it.”

He does. His lines aren't as sure, but still better than what I would manage with my off hand. I take the quill back from him when he's finished and fill in the pupils of the eye, gasping as the magic flares to life.

“It worked?” Asra asks.

“Yes.” The sensation of fire fades to a steady, faint warmth. Pleasant. At least in comparison with the knots of anxiety in my chest. “Let's go.”   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG, my dudes.... we're getting to the end. 
> 
> Which is good, because yours truly has Dragon Age plot bunnies running about in the dust of her brain.


	18. We’ll Never Get Free, Lamb to the Slaughter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from grandson, 'blood//water"

Asra stiffens and takes a half step back from me, visibly fighting the compulsion of the spells. He steels himself and stops with my hands still in his. “What did it do?”

“I don’t know. Not exactly.” There’s something in me. Not quite a voice, something more like the space after speech before the words are fully understood. Some sort of solution to the problem posed by what we learned from the Star, that I have access to the Fool’s power, but only if I don’t act as myself. Abstract, universal patterns arranged together to channel that power into something with form. At least, I hope that what I hear - what I feel - is a solution. A way forward. “Maybe it will help.”

The muscles around Asra’s eyes tighten, pulling his brows done and forming wrinkles in the corner of his eyes. His hands jerk in mine; he takes another small step back. “Is it the ritual?” The charm Muriel left with us falls to the floor, disintegrating into ashes. Ashes. Ashes. We keep returning to ashes.

Asra lifts my hands and touches his forehead against the back of my fingers. I can’t feel the compulsion myself, but the drag on him is palpable. Behind me one of the dogs whines. I turn his hands over and press his fingers to my cheek. They’re freezing. “We have to go then.”

Asra movements seem natural enough - so long as he moves in the direction that the spell wants him to go. Toward the maw in the wall where Lucio’s portrait used to hang and down the stairs. As I lift my foot over the threshold, Mercedes whimpers and gets up from the bed, trailing along behind my feet. “Stay here,” I warn her and weave my fingers through Asra’s to follow him.

At the termination of the stairs, the hidden dining room glows with magical lamps. The table is piled high with every imaginable delicacy from the simple temptation of perfectly ripened fruits, through roasted meats dripping glaze, to decadent, tiered cakes. The seats around the table are nearly full. Three chairs remain empty. Two at the head, for me and Asra. A third near the other end.  _ Julian’s _ . 

The Devil overshadows the right side of the table, not quite in the middle. “Ah, our guests of honor have finally deigned to arrive.” He laughs and claps his hands together. “We can finally begin.” 

The compulsion pulls Asra to his seat, his limbs as stiff as a puppet’s. He gasps in dismay when he realizes that Aisha and Salim are present, seated together in a wider chair. The Devil chuckles at the expressions on their faces. 

“Yes, Asra, I wasn’t sure that the Lovers would grace us with their physical presence, but you so happily arranged for that to occur.” He inclines his head to the person beside them. Horror shocks through me, removing the need to feign that my limbs are moving without my will, as I recognize the sturdy figure. Mazelinka. “It was a little difficult to find someone to represent the Chariot when my first choice was unavailable, but I believe the Captain here will do nicely.”

Nadia is already in the seat beside Asra, her face a perfect study of disgust. When I was last here, the place settings were spaced evenly around the table - ten on one side and ten on the other. Now, twelve are crammed to my right, with even more space taken up by a double seat for Aisha and Salim. There are eight people to my left, mostly Nadia’s eldest sisters. Portia is trapped on that side, squirming away from Vulgora’s mass and the Devil looming beside them and as close as possible to Navra. 

On my left, Valerius - dreadfully pale - stares down a glass of wine set in front of him. Two elegant figures are seated between the Countess and the Hierophant: Empress and Emperor. They can only be Nadia’s parents. There is a family resemblance between them and with the blue-haired individual on the other side of Muriel. A sister to whom I’ve yet to be introduced? Mazelinka’s countenance is stormy and dangerous, and I almost feel encouraged by her presence. Muriel’s hand trembles violently, threatening to shake the table, even as Nasmira covers it with her gentle one. The salad in front of Vlastomil is fit only for the compost heap.

Opposite of me, Valdemar lounges with one arm extended over the back of the empty chair that had been intended for Julian. As my eyes meet theirs, they smile broadly and toy with a glass that contains human fingers instead of prawns and what I suspect is blood rather than cocktail sauce.

Volta and Vulgora frame the Devil’s towering form, both rubbing their hands together eagerly, albeit with thoroughly different expressions on their faces. Volta’s fingerless gloves are about to begin to fray from where she’s fretting at them. Vulgora is on tenterhooks, anticipating some violent delight. 

Portia’s eyes dart between Mazelinka, Julian’s empty seat, and the corner of the table where Asra and I are seated, a million questions expressed by their frantic movements. Nahara peers around Navra, watching her with no small amount of concern. Nazali’s scarf is pulled forward, shadowing her eyes, but the lines around her mouth are stern. The ethereal woman in an elaborate headdress directly to my right watches me with an entirely too serene expression on her face. 

“I must compliment you on your excellent organization, Countess. Lucio didn’t manage to get half of those I needed here, but you have truly demonstrated your abilities.” Portia’s face blanches at the Devil’s words, and she looks down before Nadia can meet her eyes. “As for you, my dear, dear Dema, well, one fool is just as good as another.” The Devil claps his hands together. “And now, let us begin our evening together.”

Mechanically, everyone’s hands pick up knives and forks, cutting into the dishes in front of them. My own plate is deceptively simple: a cabbage salad and cooked beans beside a pile of shredded meat, redolent with smoky spices that I can’t quite place. Asra nudges my foot with his, and I feel Faust’s weight slither into my lap. Tilting my chin the barest of centimeters in the Devil’s direction, I clear my throat loudly.

“Some immortal, all powerful being you are.”

“I’m sorry, little fool?” The Devil turns his slitted eyes to me. Unlike the rest of us, he does not have any food to distract him, only the large ornate chalice into which Faust needs to somehow get my blood.

“How many humans have you had to trick, to force to this table to fulfill your plan? That hardly seems like power to me.” I pick up the glass in front of me and recklessly drink from it as Faust’s weight slides from my lap. Not wine - corn whiskey cut with something sweet and gingery and absolutely delicious - the Devil seems to know me better than I would like. “More like desperation.” 

“And yet, I see that all of you have answered my summons.”

Nadia snorts and sets down her glass of wine. Her hands continue to move, picking up her fork and knife again to slice into the perfectly seared swordfish on her plate, but that doesn’t stop her commentary. “I believe a moment ago you attributed the high rate of attendance to my skill as a hostess. An ‘all powerful’ being needs a party planner? Really?”

“Oh Countess,” Volta babbles as she scarfs down her food. “Such wonderful dishes you planned. You always take such good care of us.” She sounds like she’s pleading for rescue. Or maybe she’s even trying to help in her own little way. 

“Hush, Volta!” Vulgora hisses. Valdemar simply responds by lifting the plate of boiled lobster from Julian’s place and setting it in front of Volta, who begins cracking the claws with her bare hands. More anxious energy than gusto, I suspect. 

“Why, thank you, Volta! I do try to keep the comfort of my guests in mind. Especially those guests that I’ve actually invited.” Nadia smiles at Volta and then narrows her eyes in the direction of the Devil.

A flicker in the light near the chalice in front of the Devil catches my eye, and I try not to panic. I swallow another mouthful of my meal and hurriedly speak, trying to remember to keep my hands moving maniacally as I do. “You’re truly the best of hosts, Nadia. I can think of people who are threatened by their guests. So threatened that they need to lock them up in chains.”

Nadia arches an eyebrow at me while chewing on a mouthful of fish. She swallows and smiles, hands continuing to work stiffly. “Really, now? I find that it is only the least confident of hosts who find that it is necessary to somehow entrap their guests. Certainly, if what one offers has merit, it will be accepted freely.”

“Indeed,” Aisha picks up the conversation, taking around a mouthful without a single care for formality. “I can't imagine why one would forcibly prevent one's guests from leaving, other than being fearful of what those guests might do. Awful manners, really.”

Asra stiffens beside me, and I can't stop myself from letting one hand slip underneath the table to rest on his knee. With any luck my slip in appearing that I am under the same spell as the others won’t be noticed.

“Maybe we should be sorry for such a goat . . . I mean, host,” Valerius muses aloud. “It must be frustrating to feel such a lack of power that you need to force others to your will.”

The Devil's fists slam down on the table. “That's enough of that.”

“Is it?” Valerius dares. One side of his mouth twitches up into a withering sneer. “I’ve also heard that one can judge a host by whether they elicit the best or the absolute worst from their guests.”

The conversation lulls to comments between closely seated companions. Nasmira seems to be whispering encouragement in Muriel's ear. He certainly seems steadier with her close beside him. Valdemar's attention shifts between Vlastomil and Volta, appearing equally bored with both a monologue on worm breeding and a running commentary on the menu. They lift one of the fingers from their cocktail and look down at me as they snap the tip off and run their tongue over their teeth. Then the fearful symmetry of their face breaks for a moment, and they wink -  _ wink! _ \- at me.

I don’t have enough time to properly panic before Faust's weight settles back into my lap, coiling into a circle. “ _ Done.”  _ I move my hand from Asra's knee to her coils, hoping she can feel my thanks. Beside me, Asra breathes the slightest sigh of relief.  _ “Scary.” _ Faust slides from my lap to his, carefully keeping herself hidden under the tablecloth.

Portia peers down the table to me. The four Satrinava sisters between us lean back, almost imperceptibly, although Nahara and Nazali are clearly struggling to restrain their interest. Her voice is pitched low. “Where  _ is _ Ilya?”

“Pasha,” Nahara speaks quietly. “Now might not be the time.”

“He -” I hesitate for a moment. Nahara may be right, but Portia and Mazelinka deserve better than suffering in ignorance. “He made a deal.”

“He did what? Goddamned idiot!” Portia drops her knife and fork. They clatter against her plate. Nahara reaches across her sister and touches Portia's wrist before her hands are pulled back to the act of eating by the force of the spell. Portia's hands - trembling with rage - pick back up her utensils.

Mazelinka glares daggers at the Devil. “I swear you fucking, overgrown farmstock -” 

“Oh, calm yourself, Captain. I assure you that our Hanged Man is present in all the ways that matter.”

“You’ll be a wether when I’m through with you.”

The Devil ignores her threat and taps the flat of his knife against the chalice in front of him. All nine Satrinavas plus Valerius roll their eyes at the ringing tones produced by the gesture. “And now, if you'll join me in a toast to a new world. One which so many of you have had a hand in making whether you realized it or not.” His eyes are on me as he walks to the head of the table. But the Devil places the chalice in the hands of the oldest Satrinava sister, rather than in mine. She holds the vessel to her mouth, then pauses, peering over the rim at me with eyes that are uncannily clear. She winks at me and then tips the chalice back, drinking without further hesitation and passing the cup to Nazali. Of course, reversed order.

Nazali follows suit, then Nahara and Navra. Portia drinks with a grimace, and Vulgora with an audible moan of pleasure. The Devil returns to his seat and sips delicately from the cup. Volta takes the chalice from him with trembling hands, and then Valdemar pulls it away from her before she can swallow all the contents. The cup moves down the other side of the table. Vlastomil handles it with the tips of his fingers. For a moment I can hope he’ll drop it and take care of ruining the ritual for me. The blue haired Satrinava’s sip is quick, efficient. Muriel’s hands jerk, trying to toss it aside, but give into the compulsion. Nasmira’s sip is as shallow as she can manage. Valerius spits over his shoulder three times after swallowing. A little late to try to ward off the Devil with old wives’ tales. Aisha and Salim touch their foreheads together after they drink. Asra does that, when he’s seeking reassurance. Nadia and her parents maintain a schooled dignity. 

Finally, Asra drinks and passes the chalice to me. The dark dregs of wine, my blood, and god knows what else remain in the bottom. I lift the cup to my mouth and tip it back, swallowing the bitter remnants.

I set the heavy chalice back down on the table, and the Devil reveals his sharp teeth with another smile. “And now, let us welcome a new world. One where, despite what you may believe, I believe you’ll find holds many delights. If you’ll submit to the one who wishes to provide for you.”

He rises slowly from his seat, adjusts his stole, and solemnly claps his hands together. Asra’s hand grips my knee, and Portia and I exchange glances. 

Nothing happens.

The Devil looks around, then claps his hands a second time. Again, nothing. 

My hand finds Asra's, but I have no idea what to do. Nothing happened, so our gambit worked? We hadn’t planned beyond putting my blood in the wine. It was too much to hope that the Devil would just disappear, I suppose. Should I jump up? Maybe on the table. Dive across it and try to throttle the Devil or something equally mundane? 

Nadia sets down her silverware and stands, clearly freed from the compulsion. Something happened then. “Well, that is entirely unimpressive. And as I have no memory of inviting you to my masquerade, I must ask that you leave. Now.”

Valdemar and the Devil freeze. Their shocked gazes lock on each other. The latter’s eyes scan the room slowly, resting briefly on Nadia and then moving to me. He seems to be collecting his wits to respond when Volta cries out. “Oh! What is happening? Why does Volta feel so . . . So light?” Vlastomil turns from sickly grey to sicker green. Vulgora clutches their throat and then dry heaves, shoving their seat back from the table and falling to their knees. 

A lacelike veil falls across my vision. Superimposed over the room around me, I can just make out the chains tying each guest to their seat, as those chains begin to crumble. The Devil looks around in dismay as the other guests - the human guests - get to their feet.

Nahara jumps out of her chair. She picks it up and slams it against the table, breaking off a leg. Her free hand closes around Portia's shoulder, pulls her out of her chair and backwards, and she steps between Portia and Vulgora, wielding the broken end as a weapon. With a cackle, Mazelinka jumps to her feet, reaches behind her back and whips out a very sharp, throwing dagger. As it leaves her hands, the entire table erupts into flames. I shove myself back hard enough that I fall out of my chair. Asra manages to catch me and kneels on the floor putting himself between me and the conflagration. 

When the fire subsides - not so many moments later, I try to tell myself - we’re all unharmed, but both the Devil and Valdemar have disappeared. A pathetic cry from Volta breaks the silence. 

“Countess, Countess, I don't know what's happening! I don't understand.” Volta sobs piteously on the other side of the table. Vlastomil curls in on himself, mimicking one of the worms of which he is so fond. Vulgora repetitively pounds the table with their fists. And the only things I can see clearly are the chains that wrap around them - weakened, but still there. I get to my feet and push past the Satrinava sisters and Portia. Volta turns to me, her one good eye watering as she pleads. “Oh please, oh please, help Volta.” 

I swallow hard and reach out, grasping the chains that tangle around Volta’s tiny form. At first, the links are only warm against my palms. I close my eyes and shove against them with my magic. The responding wave of scorching heat is expected, but there’s no moment of give, no sense of being washed away, nothing shattering in my hands.

The chains are still wrapped around the strange little woman when I open my eyes.  _ Shit. _

I roll my lip between my teeth, close my eyes again, and draw a slow breath in through my nose. What have I felt before? When it worked. When the Fool’s power rushed through my body. Wind. Wind. Cool sweet air, washing over like the deepest of breaths. Into me, through me. The patterns on my hands flare, burning like a blade, like a tattoo artist’s needle. A soft, low voice whispers in my ear.  _ Trust them _ . Sunflowers bloom behind my eyes, yellows, and rusts, and dark brown seeds filled with seeds.  _ Trust.  _ I pull another breath into my lungs, withdraw with it deep into myself. Deep like roots crawling through me following the patterns of veins and arteries, dark and cool against the heat rolling from the chains and into my hands. Input.  _ Just let it flow. Let the function do the work.  _ Once I let go, allow void to rush through, disappear into it...

The chains snap with an audible crack. Volta shrieks, spasms, and hides her face behind her hands. 

Before I can think too much about it, and lose my connection to whatever it is that is working, I grab Vulgora's chains. Unlike Volta, they fight me, clawing at my hand, but the metal links crumble within my grasp, and Nahara cuffs them away from me as I fall more than step toward Vlastomil. My knees hit the floor, and I sprawl forward with my arms outstretched. Inanna halts his desperate scurry backward as my fingers close around the links, and another pulse of burning cold washes through me. 

The world goes dark.

I’m surrounded by stars. So many stars, closer and closer together. Humming, droning, the tone rising and rising, past the range of human hearing. Then silence. And light.

My eyes flutter open. I’ve been turned on my back. Nazali crouches beside me, two fingers resting against the artery in my throat. They pull me back to my feet and gently guide me back into Asra's arms. Nahara, Mazelinka, and Muriel move quickly, pinning Vlastomil and Vulgora - now pathetically human to the wall and the floor respectively. No one seems concerned about restraining the still sobbing Volta.

“You, you nasty thing!” Vlastomil shouts across the room. His voice sounds weaker than ever, but his color has - if not improved - become more human. “What have you done?”

“Just you come over here! I'll break your face. Believe me, I will,” Vulgora shouts. Nahara presses the splintered end of a chair leg against Vulgora's throat. The courtier, or - I suppose - ex courtier quiets as a drop of blood appears on their white scarf.

Breaking the chains didn't take long, but the void still lingers, cool and hot, and everything - everything all at once. I lean heavily against Asra as I move my lips and tongue, experimenting before I speak. “Countess, they're only human now.”

Nadia surveys the room, then takes a deep breath before issuing orders. “Valerius, be good enough to return to the main palace, assess the situation, and take whatever steps are needed to secure order. Mother, if you, Father, Natiqa, Nasmira, and Navra will assist him, I will be quite obliged. Please, find several members of the guard who can be trusted and send them here.”

Valerius’ eyebrows raise in shock. For a moment, he’s frozen. Then, he flips over the place setting in front of him, wine glass shattering across the white tablecloth and stands. He adjusts his robes, and inclines his head to Nadia. “As you command, Countess.”

Nadia strides around the table and sits down in the chair the Devil had previously occupied. Volta scrambles toward her. Nazali steps in between the tiny woman and her sister, but Nadia waves her away and allows Volta to clutch at her skirts. Almost fondly she pats the woman's ginger hair. “Now, would any of you like to tell me what had been going on here?”

“Oh, Countess, kind Countess, Volta did not mean to do so many bad things. Volta did not want to.”

“Shut up, Volta!” Vulgora lifts their head from the floor to yell, only to be violently cuffed on the temple by Nahara.

“Yes, Volta will tell the Countess what she knows; although, Volta does not know much. He had big plans, yes, but I did not understand them.”

Nadia strokes the little woman's hair. “And when did you make your deal with the Devil, Volta?”

“Years ago, many many years ago. There was no food, no food anywhere. I boiled the leather of my shoes, ate grass like an animal, and finally Volta had to sit in the graveyard and gnaw at bones.” If Nadia is repulsed by the last statement, she hides it well. “He said he would me . . . And he fed me, but I was never full, not for long. Not unless I did cruel things. Inhuman things! Things I did not want to do. Mold in granaries. Drought. Whispering in ears that muscle is muscle and you’ll never know where it came from once you -” She covers her face with her hands, then wipes her eyes with the edge of her sleeve. “The blond boy running between names could find nothing to eat. I wanted - but tempt him more, the Devil said. Never enough.”

A blond boy? Lucio many, many years ago? Running away from something and desperate. Easy to entangle in a bad bargain. 

The ethereal woman drags a chair next to Nadia’s and sits down. She touches her finger under Volta’s chin and lifts her face. “You just wanted to feed him, didn’t you?”

“Oh, please, please forgive me. We were so hungry. So very, very hungry.” She hides her face in Nadia’s skirts once more. The Countess pats her shoulder and looks to Vlastomil and Vulgora. “I don't suppose either of you will be forthcoming.”

“That brat owed me everything,” Vlastomil shouts hoarsely. “And you. Without him, without us what would you be, Countess? An extraneous princess? Pathetic.”

“I won't tell you anything. Not a damn thing. You don't deserve to know of the glorious world we were promised! If the fighting, victory for the strongest -” Vulgora's rant is cut off by the arrival of ten members of the palace guard, led by Ludovico. Their uniforms are in disarray, but they salute Nadia smartly.

“Thank you for your promptness. Escort Praetor Vlastomil and Pontifex Vulgora to separate cells in dungeons. Procurator Volta is to be confined to her room. Please make sure that the windows have been secured and that the doors remain guarded. And -” She pauses and pats Volta's shoulder reassuringly. “See to it that she is provided with food and drink should she desire it.”

Volta more than cooperates; she is practically skipping as they lead her away. Vulgora threatens the guards as they are divested of their gauntlets and roughly searched for other weapons before being restrained. Vlastomil limits himself to calling the guards nasty and complaining that he must attend to his worms. A guard mutters something about how he hasn't taken vacation in a while. Perhaps a fishing trip would be nice once all of this is over.

Nadia breathes a sigh of relief when the demonic members of her court are gone. “Now, Asra, Dema, please explain just what happened to Dr. Devorak.”

Asra summarizes the information we got from the Star and Death as well as the deal Julian made with the Devil as Nadia pinches the bridge of her nose and Portia's hands clench into tight little fists. Nahara stands behind her chair, one hand gently resting on Portia's shoulder. While Asra speaks, Dr. Satrinava steps around the table and catches my eye. I nod at them and they unobtrusively pick up my hand, holding their fingers to my wrist to check my pulse.

“I think Ilya's somewhere in the Devil's realm.”

“Well, his body is folded up in a cabinet at my cottage,” Portia interjects. “I should go kick him for being such an idiot.” 

Asra ignores her and continues. “If we can get to him -”

“- I should be able to break his chains, like I've broken the others.”

Nazali presses the back of their hand to my forehead and shakes their head slightly. “You need to rest, child,” they say softly.

“I can't! Julian, if we don't get him back -” There’s a different wave washing over me now, hot and rough against my skin, like being rolled against the sand by the surf. It’s not enough to have stopped whatever was intended to happen here, not enough to have broken the chains around Volta and the other two. If I don’t get Julian back... I have to get Julian back.

Nazali pushes my hair back from my face; their eyes are stern. “You can barely stay on your feet. Besides, we should take a moment. Try to put together what we know. Nafizah, do you have any ideas.”

The ethereal woman nods. Nafizah, the oldest of the Satrinavas and the heir to the throne of Prakra. “I suspect that Lucio first bound himself to lesser demons. They facilitated his rise to power. Became members of his court. Once he had enough power that’s when he truly became of interest to the Devil. A tool to find others, seize them, use them as conduits for the power of the rest of the Arcana. Tools, of course, are often discarded once a superior one is acquired.” She glances at Asra. He turns his face from her gaze and hides it against my shoulder. Nafizah continues her voice just as even as before. “As count, Lucio created opportunities for him to exploit desires, desperations, even simple family connections.”

“And so here we are...” Regret sucks the confidence from Nadia’s voice, softening it. Nafizah’s comments about tools apply to her as well. 

“Yes. Here we are.” It’s a simple fact for Nafizah - no emotion or judgment passed. “Clearly, Dema’s abilities weren’t an element he had considered. He unknowingly created something that could undo him.”

“I think -” My lungs expand slowly. A breath as a way to buy time. I’m almost too intimidated to add my pitiful commentary to Nafizah’s hypothesis. “I think the Devil is susceptible to his own chains. When I redirected one at him, he dodged away.”

Nafizah tilts her chin in a slight nod. “His chains are manifestations of his deals, his words. He can no more lie than any of the other Arcana. And so they apply to him as well.”

Mazelinka thumps her fist on the table impatiently. “How does this help find my grandson?”

“All his power comes from trickery.” Muriel barely lifts his head when he speaks. He’s sitting on the floor, arms wrapped around Inanna. “The meaning lies as much as in what isn’t said as what is.”

“Dema.” Nazali leans back on the table. “The deal Ilya made - what were his exact words?” 

“Just before the Devil appeared, he said he had a plan of some kind.” I repeat back what Julian said as exactly as I can and glance at Asra for confirmation. “And then after, he kept telling us to trust him.”

“Dammit, Ilya.” Nazali presses their lips into a thin line and pinches the bridge of their nose. A shared gesture in the family. “Yes. He had a plan. Or the start of one. The Devil can’t  _ harm _ you or Asra while Ilya remains his captive.” 

“But we can’t leave him there!” Portia protests.

“Absolutely not! He’s an idiot at times, but he’s my idiot. Well -” Nazali looks around the room. Their eyes move from Portia to Mazelinka to Asra and me, even to Nadia. “A lot of people’s idiot.”

“He’s bought Dema and Asra a chance to get close enough to the Devil to take him down.” Nahara looks up from sharpening the broken end of the chair leg with a carving knife. “It’s not a terrible tactic.”

“No. Not terrible, but it’s terribly reckless when we don’t actually know if the Devil can be bound.”

Nahara shrugs. “Nothing is ever sure in battle, ‘Zali. You know that just as well I do.”

The air gets terribly still as everyone goes silent, looking from one set of eyes to another, or just down at empty hands. Half a plan and hope that I can bind the Devil with chains just as well as I can break those chains. Not enough. My heart pounds in my ears, and every muscle in my body is taunt, tearing against bones that aren’t moving. I have to move. I’ve got to move. If I don’t move, it’s only going to get worse.

Sitting here staring at each other isn’t going to save Julian. 

“Right.” My fingers tighten into fists. I’ve got to move, to do something. There are strings tugging at my arms and my legs and if I don’t respond they’re going to tear me apart. “Find the Devil. Beat the Devil. Free Julian.” It’s hard to be flippant enough - even in my own head for that to sound easy. “Asra, if you distract him, I can try -” If Julian’s logic is right, if there isn’t some other interpretation of the words, the Devil agreed to not harm me. I can just keep throwing myself at him until something works. I start to get up from my chair only to be pushed back down by Nazali’s hands on my shoulders. 

“Slow down. You haven’t caught your breath from what you just did.”

“But Asra and I can’t be harmed. We can figure it out. We’ve figured out everything else.” 

Nazali shakes their head and clicks their tongue against the roof of their mouth. “Stubborn girl.”

“I’m not about to let the two of you go without me.” Mazelinka retrieves her dagger from the floor and returns it to her belt. “I haven’t been retired so long that I’m not of use in a fight.”

Portia grabs Mazelinka’s hand. “Don’t think you’re leaving me behind either.”

“I’m in.” Nahara smiles wickedly. “Especially if the Captain and Pasha are.”

“Wait a moment.” Nadia shakes her head and pinches the bridge of her nose. “You still don’t have a plan. Julian bought us some time -”

“And with every second we wait, there’s more time for the Devil to anticipate us.”

Nazali rolls up their sleeves and sighs, sounding resigned. “Nahara’s right. Strike fast. Strike hard. We simply don’t know enough to have a better strategy than get Dema there and then see what she can do. Unless, Nafizah has any other theories.”

“No. If anything like this has ever happened before, I have never heard of it. Not a whisper within a dream.” She traces the patterns on her turtle’s shell. “I believe you’ll need to go in your physical bodies. At least, Dema will.”

“No. No. That is too dangerous. She was able to deflect his chains - even break them - without being in the realms physically.” Asra’s protest is understandable in this case, at this time. It’s been dangerous enough traveling the arcane realms as a spirit, or psyche, or whatever word one might use. Entering in our physical bodies would mean that any damage we take there would return with us. 

“She’ll need no less than her full power and that power is tied -”

“- to Asra having brought me back from the dead. In this body.” I look at my palms. The ink hasn’t smudged. It still feels reassuring, if only very slightly. Some sense, some form, some order imposed on meaningless chaos.

“There’s got to be a different -”

“Asra, the Devil can’t actually harm me. Or you. Not as long as  _ he still has Julian _ .”

“He’s not the only threat!” He cups my face in his hand, runs his thumb over my cheek, and leans his forehead against mine. Reassurance.

“All the more reason to take several of us.” Nahara sets aside the carving knife and examines the point on her improvised stake. “Armed to the teeth.”

“We’ll come, of course.” Aisha touches my shoulder and runs her hands through Asra’s hair. “Salim and I have probably have more experience traveling the arcane realms than anyone else here.”

“Besides, we owe the bastard.” Salim sounds positively eager. “I can raise a gate easily enough. I’m not so sure about directing it to the Devil’s Realm, but once we’re in -”

Asra groans and slumps over, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. “At least - at least, if I can’t be harmed let me go first, alone, see if I can scout out anything.”

“No, sooner is better.” Nahara sets aside the stake and flexes her shoulders. “Both the Devil and Valdemar were surprised when their gambit didn’t work out. We don’t want to give them more time to recover from that than we must.”

“I’ll take my chances, Asra.” I pull his hands from his face and get him to look at me. “We know what we know. We can’t waste more time.”

Nadia clears her throat. “If it’s decided, well, what do you need? All my resources are at your disposal.”

Salim studies the space around us, testing something invisible with his hands. “This is a good place to raise a gate. There’s some spring of magic here. Can you keep it secured?”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. What else?”

“Weapons, proper ones,” Nahara answers reflexively.

“While they’re doing that, I’ll try to get Dema back on her feet.” Nazali touches the back of their hand to my forehead again, then sets it on my shoulder. Keeping me in my seat. “Pasha, can you get us some perfectly mundane food and drink? That would be good for everyone.”

Portia smiles broadly at Nazali and winks. “Glad to have a nice simple task! I’ll be right back.” She runs off in a sudden burst of energy. I wonder if she felt something similar to the strings still tugging at my limbs.

Nafizah places her turtle back on her head. “Daruude and I will remain her while you travel. It will be safer if your familiars stay behind, and they can communicate with us should you require reinforcements.”

“Who would that be?”  
“I will come myself if needed.” Nadia stands and straightens her skirt. “Natiqa has no small skill with magic, and there are some members of the palace guard I trust enough to explain the situation. I won’t command any of them, but a few may volunteer.”

“Better than nothing. The potential for a fresh wave is always appreciated.” Nahara stands and stretches. “Where’s your armory. I’m sure Captain Mazelinka and I can find what we need there.”

“Follow me.” Nadia pauses for a moment. “If there is nothing else you can think of at the moment, I will go and check on the situation in the rest of the palace, though I am confident Mother and Valerius will have it in hand.”

“Bring -” Asra starts from his chair then falls back into it. “Bring Ilya’s body here. It’ll be better if - when we return with him.”

I wrap an arm against Asra and pull him close to me, rubbing his back and rocking him a little, and that’s just as much for me as it is for him, because failing is too much to think about. No ifs. Only whens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: A wether is a castrated goat.


	19. Stretch the Marks over My Eyes, Burn the Candle Deep Inside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Soundgarden, "Let Me Drown"
> 
> But equally atmospheric, [this poem](https://ruverses.com/alexander-blok/night-street-lamp-drugstore/321/) by Aleksandr Blok:
> 
> _“Night, street, lamp, drugstore,  
>  A dull and meaningless light.  
> Go on and live another quarter century -  
> Nothing will change. There's no way out._
> 
> _You'll die, then start from the beginning,  
>  It will repeat, just like before:  
>  Night, icy ripples on a canal,  
>  Drugstore, street, lamp.”_

Nazali finds blankets somewhere and piles them into a nest on the floor. They order me to lie down for a bit, before helping Muriel drag the table to the side of the room, clearing space for Salim and Aisha to work. 

Asra sits down beside me and pulls my head into his lap. Inanna joins us, curling up behind me. Faust slides into her soft fur, seeking out warmth. Asra strokes my shoulder. He’s biting his lip and worry creases his brow. I raise one hand up and touch his face, trying to smile.

“Another adventurous journey. You like those, right?”

“This is not exactly the same thing.” His fingers move to my hair. “I don’t always know where I’m going, but at least, I’m in control of it. This is so far out of my control... But we have to save Ilya.”

“Yes.” I curl closer to him and close my eyes. I wish everything would move slower because it’s too much, too fast. And that everything would move faster. Julian’s deal keeps me and Asra from harm. It doesn’t protect him. “At least we have help.”

“Mmm.” I can hear Asra’s eyes closing in the little sound. Catnaps anywhere, even sitting up. It’s not a skill that I have, even if Nazali would probably approve. Faust moves from Inanna to my chest. I stroke her scales and try to just breathe. In and out. We have help and something of a plan. It has to work.

Portia returns first with food. Tiny sandwiches and tea and wine that Nazali takes away from me before I can swallow more than a mouthful. They replace it with a cup of water. I sigh, but I don’t complain. They’re right. I feel a bit better after nibbling at a sandwich and drinking the perfectly plain and unexciting liquid. 

Mazelinka and Nahara return soon after. Both are armed to the teeth and carrying extra weapons to distribute. A heavy bladed stave for Muriel. A much lighter one for Portia. Nazali bows a little to their sister and takes the proffered bow and arrows before adding an additional few knives to their belt.

Nafizah settles herself on the pile of blankets Asra and I just vacated. Inanna whines when Muriel whispers in her ear, but she stays seated beside the crown princess. Reluctantly, Asra and his parents leave their familiars; the three snakes curl up together in Nafizah's lap.

Salim and Aisha trace lines in chalk and salt onto the stone floor. When they’ve finished, Salim crouches down and extends his hands, rising slowly and drawing a stone and metal door up with him. Chalkdust poofs in the air when he finishes and claps his hands together. “Dema, I think you should be the one to open it.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You're the center.”

There's more than a little logic to his statement. I'm the center. The fool leading us forward into something unknown. Asra trails behind me as I step up to the door and place my hands on the cold metal. Heat races along the tracings again.  _ Is that a bad sign, or a good one? _ With a deep breath, I shove the door open and step through. 

The place beyond the door is nothing like Asra’s bright oasis or the Magician’s colorful beach. I step out onto a wide, flat roof. The walls of the building rise a few feet around it, forming a rail, or a place to sit if you’re brave enough. There’s a scattering of old chairs - broken caning in the backs or ripped upholstery on seats - set out for the more timid. Low tables support ashtrays and empty wine bottles and at least one abandoned pulp novel.

Cold seeps into my skin and down to my bones as I step toward the rail. Other rooftops rise from twisting streets, slightly obscured by light snow. Beyond them, a wide river curls through the city, cut by bridges supported by towers that rise from the water to compete with church spires. 

Portia braces herself against the railing and peers out over the streets. “Look at this!”

Nahara paces a circuit of the roof, looking carefully in corners and over the railing for any possible threats. “Aisha, do you or Salim recognize this place? Where are we?”

Salim turns around in a circle, tilting his head back and looking up at the bit of sky that can be seen past the roofs of the building. “The Realms are changeable. Even if I recognized it...” His voice trails off.

Aisha shakes her head. “It doesn't feel like any one of the Arcana to me. Asra?”

“No.” He steps beside me, skipping his hand around my waist. “It isn't familiar. Not quite.”

“It looks like some of the port cities far to the South,” Mazelinka offers. “I'd have to see the harbor to know which. If it is one.”

Cold. I recognize it. The chill air, the way it bites my lungs. When the sun rises the sky will be the most brilliant blue, and spires will rise into it. In summer, that blue will remain almost through the night. But in winter there are precious few hours of brilliance.

“This is my gate.” My voice sounds hollow. “Or part of it.”

“Your gate? Do you know where to go then?”

I laugh, bitterness bordering on hysteria. “No, no... I still don't.” I press my face against Asra's shoulder. I don't want to cry. The tears won't freeze on my cheeks, but they'll be just as cold as they'll be useless. “I still don't remember. Anything. But -” I turn around slowly and point. With a low groan, a sloped bit of roof and a door rise from the roof. “It's a stair down.”

We don't walk down enough stairs to account for the vaulted ceiling of the room we next step into, but I suppose that doesn't matter in a magical realm. It's a massive library, broken up into a warren of constricted paths by bookshelves. Chandeliers hang from arched beams above our heads. At least it's warm. 

Warm and a labyrinth rather than a maze. The shelves twist and turn, but there's never a choice about the way to go, never a dead end. If the process is slow, it's mostly due to having to squeeze in a single file through the cases. And Nazali stopping to pull books from the shelves and ruffle through the pages. 

“This is so strange. Some of these are nearly complete. Then, look.” They shove a dusty time into my hands. “Completely blank! Or this one is half and half. And this one. Text, but complete gibberish. At least, I think it is. It could just be a language I'm not familiar with, but the letters don't seem like they're in any order at all.”

“Dema, do you think you created a gate based on your memories?” Aisha touches my shoulder gently. “Some magicians do. Or use their gate as a place to store memories.”

“You were a student,” Asra suggests. “Before you came to Vesuvia.”

“I guess I didn't read them all.” I pick another book off the shelf. It's mostly empty, a few pages at the front and back have text. “Or didn't understand them all.”

Nahara looks around the space and whistles. “I would be very impressed if you had.”

We continue to wind between shelves. The light from above starts to fade as we continue, chandeliers replaced by candles burning dangerously in sconces attached to the wider planks joining the cases. The shelves themselves change, going from barrister cases with glass fronts to lacquered wood, to boards that have been simply planed and sanded to the minimum necessary to accomplish the job. Finally, there’s nothing except notebooks and loose papers, overflowing from crates stacked against plastered walls. 

Plain wood doors break the monotony of the empty hall. Muriel and Portia each try one. Locked. We pass several before finding one with a key set in the lock. The plain metal key glows slightly, in a way that it just shouldn’t in the dark hall. It turns easily, but the hinges creak as I push the door open.

Before I can see more than vague outlines of a desk and a bed. Asra grabs my arms and pulls me against him. “Oh no. No, no, no...” His hands close over my eyes. “You don't need to see this.”

Behind me, I can hear Portia gasp in dismay. As he tries to spin me around, I pry Asra’s fingers from my eyes. “What the hell? Asra... oh.”

The plastered wall above the desk is covered with chalk scrawls, circles with words and phrases and lines connecting them into something that is either ordered or disordered, and I’m not entirely sure which adjective better applies. Order, I think. If I took the time, just stopped, looked them over carefully - they’re so familiar - I could find the order.  _ Euphoria each time I made a connection, drew a line _ . _ It’s there. Find it. Understand it.  _ And maybe with enough time, explain it. 

I don’t have time. 

Asra is still holding my arms, trying to pull me out of the small room. Twisted blankets cover the lower half of the bed. Closer to the head, the sheets are thrown back and stained with blood. Copious quantities of blood. I shrug out of his grasp and step over to the bed. Reach out and touch the red stain.

I don't feel anything. Or more accurately, I feel like I'm moving through a lukewarm pool of water, and everything is just a little distorted, a little distant.

_ Everything was so distorted. Distant. Less than real. But too close. Too real. Too much. And even the people who listened didn’t hear. _

“Please, give me a minute, please. Except -” I'm frozen in place.  _ Can’t be here alone. Not alone again. _ I can hear voices speaking behind me, someone giving instructions. “Asra?”

“Dear heart.” He touches a hand to my back. “I'm here.”

“This, this isn't just my gate, is it? These are memories.”

“I wish I could tell you no, but...”

I turn around. Look at him instead of the bloodstains. “All of this was before you. Before Vesuvia. But I told you things. Right?” I rub at my left arm, the knotted twisting scars that were somehow restored to it. “At least some things.”

“Some things. A student. Not quite finished with a thesis. On the ethics of magic.” He looks down at his palms and laughs softly, bitterly.

“And -” I glance back over my shoulder, then avert my eyes again. “This?” 

“You told me once that you didn't think you weren't trying to kill yourself. That you were convinced there was something wrong, something rotten through the bone in your arm. That you were just trying to get out.”

“Oh.” My right hand clutches my left arm to my chest. “That's a difference. Maybe.” Not really a surprise, I suppose. Sometimes still everything about my left arm just feels wrong. All wrong. Usually, I can just ignore it though. “No one believed me, did they?”

Asra shakes his head. “I don't know if you believed yourself.”

“Didn't really matter, I suppose. Same end.”

He steps close to me and leans his forehead against mine. “Except it wasn't.”

I sink against him, arms still pressed against my chest, and let him hold me together. Give myself a moment to fall apart inside my head. An end. Just not the end. I'm not to the end yet. With a shake off my shoulders, I straighten back up. We're not at the end. Julian is waiting. We promised to find him. We can't linger here. I shouldn't linger here. 

“Asra?”

“My heart?” His voice is muffled by my hair.

“Let's go. This is past. I can’t stay here.”

In the hallway, Portia pulls me into a soft, warm, surprisingly welcome hug. “Dema.” She presses her cheek against mine, then Aisha embraces me, and I wonder if my mother ever comforted me like this.  _ We were too alien to each other. _

How would I know that? I don’t remember my mother. Not a face, not a voice. I bury my head against Aisha’s shoulder and let her soothe me with gentle hands running over my back.

“Come this way.” Muriel's deep voice steadies me.  _ Once, for a moment, he was the only person who was safe. _ “There's a stairway down to the street.”

Yet another door below leads out into the street and into the cold. There are cobblestones beneath my feet and beneath that the bones of workers who died filling in the ground to make this city that shouldn’t exist. This bustling, thriving necropolis, all of it a beautiful graveyard, vibrantly beautiful painted buildings, the most ironic of memorials.

_ Where did that thought come from? _

In the winter, the buildings and the sky are the only colors. Rose and sunflower and even mint green houses, glittering with gilded trim, and the intense blue sky above. But no stars at night. Not through the gas lights along the streets and certainly not in the snow falling around reflecting the light into a confusion white fairies dancing the light.

Snow gently falls around us, dusting the candy-colored buildings. Cobblestones are cold beneath the soles of my too thin slippers. But not as cold as they should, or the cold just feels far away. It’s tolerable.

_ It wasn’t tolerable though, not back then. _

There's a plaintive meow. The little black cat pads out from between two buildings and joins us. She rubs around my legs. I reach down and run my hand over her arching back. “Are you here to help us?” She chirps at me, then trots across the street and onto a bridge leading over a river. _ She is. I know she is. _ I straighten up and point my finger after her. “That's the way we need to go.”

_ Bridge. The water below still flows fast in the middle of the current, carrying chunks of ice. I could climb on the rail. Fall. Let this horrible fever dream tumble away as I do. _

“Dema.” Asra's voice breaks the thought. He wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me close. “Stay with me.”

Asra. Asra wasn't here. Not when I was here. And why are we both here now? I don't understand. My head pounds as my thoughts jump from one idea to the next, too quickly for any single one to resolve into something meaningful. Equations, and snippets of quotes, and glowing lines that seem to connect, but they don’t really, and I’m so damn tired.  _ When am I? _

“C'mon, Dema. We've got to find Julian, right?”

A different person takes my arm. She's on the other side of me: red hair and bright blue eyes. Portia.  _ Julian _ . And finding Julian, that's why we're here. “Sorry.” I shake my head. “Sorry. I don't know what happened.”

“Don't apologize.” Portia keeps my hand in hers and tugs me away from the railing. “This place is weird. Pretty. But weird.”

Asra follows behind us. He keeps one hand on my back until we're only the bridge, away from the rails, past where I can see the ice floating below.

Aisha calls a globe of light to her hand with the same gesture Asra uses. It flares for a moment, threatening to go out, and then it crackles through the air, striking one street lamp, then another, and continuing to dance down the street. The cat prances after, leaping into the air to bat at the light when it comes close to the ground.

“Follow the cat, still?"

“I'm alright with that.” Portia jumps up and down trying to warm her blood. “Cats are clever!”

Asra conjures a heavy cape and hands it to her. Good idea. A thick sweater materializes around me, as Asra knits together a baggy multicolored one for himself. The cat trots back to our little group and waits patiently as Aisha and Salim do the same for the others.

The cat. The lights. This place, this gate of mine - it's leading us somewhere. To Julian? I hope for a moment when we pass the window of a brightly lit bar that I'll see him inside, warm and drunk, and ready to regale us all with the tale of how he completely bested the Devil at his own game of trickery.

The door swings open at my touch. Tables with pitchers of beer, half empty glasses. No Julian. A book of philosophy, open with a sheet covered in scrawled notes beside it. The handwriting switches between script and print and changes directions wildly, lines and circles connecting one idea to the next. My handwriting.

Portia picks up a glass, tilts it in her hand, and watches the amber beer swirl. “It seems so real. Are all gates like this?”

Asra laughs. “Not at all. Some are a bit more fanciful. Or juvenile. Or escapist.”

Past the back door, the gate changes radically. There's no city anymore. Bright sun on snow. A wood frame house with a long porch. There's a barn nearby, cows low inside. A dirt road, wide enough for a wagon leads between trees. “Is this still your gate, love?”

“I think so?” Even though I can’t place any of it everything still feels familiar. We'll walk along the road. There will be other houses, other barns. The blacksmith's forge. He's the richest person here. Things always need to be fixed and he's very clever. His son and I were both in the same year. All the other girls want to marry his son. Money means things. Even when there's nothing much to buy. 

It shouldn't be this quiet. Not during the day. There should be bird calls. The rhythmic pounding of a hammer. An occasional creak of a wagon wheel. Men calling directions to each other in the fields.

At the end of the road, there will be a - yes, a larger building. Whitewashed boards. Steps lead up to two doors, one on the right, one on the left. Girls to the left. Boys to the left. Don't ask why, that's just how it is done.  _ Why? _

I lead us through the door to the right. The floor slopes down to a podium at the center for someone to speak from. Benches on either side. Wood. They're uncomfortable by design. Wouldn't want anyone to fall asleep. High windows. Swirled milky green, opaque glass. Light, but not a distraction. Unless your mind could truly wander, find the figures and the stories in the abstract whorls.

The building vibrates from all the songs that have been sung in it. A hundred plus voices together. 

_ That's the only thing I ever missed. _

What were the things I didn't miss?

I pull away from Asra, climb up on the stage, and stand behind the podium. A thrill of perverse pleasure runs through me as I run my hands over the smooth, worn lumber. Power. This was power. Or I thought it was power.

“Dema?”

I mean forward and rest my head against the tilted surface. Shouldn't speak here. Only sing. In harmony, as part of the whole, the mass that responded. Not on your own. Not as an individual.

“We need to leave here.”

“Back outside?” Nahara's eyebrows arch in a question.

“Back through the door.”

Turned around as we are, the door on the left is the one on the right. We leave through it, strong out into a world that has changed around us. The churchyard is now a graveyard. Graveled pathways between raised headstones, both low and high. Some have names. Some have none. Others have flowers and candles and glass beads as offerings. 

Swampy, moist ground squishing beneath feet. It's dawn or dusk, but the chirruping frogs suggest dusk. Moss hangs from the trees, veils of dead brides. They'll bury you in your wedding dress. If you're not careful they'll bury you in it while you're still alive and walking.

“Dear heart.” Asra's arm wraps around my shoulders. I turn into his embrace. I didn't even realize I was trembling. He strokes my hair and my back. “Is this still your gate?”

“Maybe?” I shudder in his arms. “This is a nightmare.” The heavy quiet. The fragments of memories and knowledge, and yet not the knowledge that I need right now, that I need to find Julian.

“Do you know where to go?”

“Do we keep following the cat?”

“Yes. Follow the cat.”

She leads us from the graveyard, between the trees. Muriel plucks vines and twigs as we go, weaving them into little charms that he tucks away inside his shirt. The cat follows a path down to the edge of a wide, slow-moving river. 

The ground under our feet slopes down as the cat leads us further into the forest. As it evens out, the soil turns bogy and the air grows damp and fetid with rot and sulfur. The plants around us change. Vines grow up trees, dotting the trunks with tiny sweet smelling flowers. Wildlife appears. Buzzing dragonflies, soft hoots of owls. Foreign spiky plants rise out of the ground. They bloom in seconds, petals snapping at the insects, then twisting back in on themselves, turning browned and blackened.

Aisha turns around, holding her hands out. “This doesn’t feel the same.”

Portia almost trips over the half-rotten body of a small animal and yelps with disgust. She hugs herself. “I don’t think I like this place.”

“I don’t think we’re in my gate anymore.”

Nazali crouches down and pokes at the dead animal with a stick. Its ribs collapse at the slight pressure. “I agree. This isn’t the same place.”

The cat loops back and paws at the edge of Nazali’s sleeve. She wants us to keep moving. Muriel pauses by the dead animal as we pass, leans over, and drops a pinch of something onto the body. Slowly the space between the trees increases until we’re looking out on a stagnant lake, covered in green scum. The cat pauses at the edge and stretches out her neck, pointing with her nose to a forbidding island in the center of the lake.

“How are we going to get out to the island?”

“Leave that to me.” Salim gestures a hand over the water and a raft formed of driftwood rises to the surface. It doesn’t look especially stable.

Mazelinka raises her eyebrows. “Will that hold all of us?”

Salim selects a straight sapling and cuts it from the ground with a chopping motion of his hand. “Believe it will, and it will.” The cat pads out onto the uneven logs, communicating at least one vote of confidence.

Someone out of the ten of us has sufficient belief. Perhaps the cat. The raft stays afloat as we cross the shallow lake to the island. Salim polls the rafts to a ramp of glossy black flagstones that rises slowly out of the water. The raft skids to a halt. Nahara hops off and offers a hand to both Portia and Mazelinka. Salim is the last off the raft, and as he steps away, it sinks back into the water. The flagstones continue across the soft ground, leading to a rickety mansion with a double porch, overhung with dangling moss. 

“Do you think Ilya’s in there?” Hands braced on their hips, Nazali looks over the decrepit house. “I think it’s the first place to look.”

“And the Devil?” There’s a tremor in Portia’s voice. Her knuckles are white where she clutches her staff.

“I can’t imagine that he isn’t expecting us.” Nahara purses her lips and unslings the bladed staff from behind her back. “When we find the Devil, the first priority is to bind him. Dema, that’s your job. Asra, you cover her. Aisha, Salim, Nazali, and I will focus on distracting him. Captain, I’d like you, Portia, and Muriel guarding our backs. Who knows what he might be able to conjure up.”

Aisha looks around and folds her hands together. I can see magic beginning to gather and arch between her fingers. “Are we ready then?”

Salim rolls her shoulders and strides forward. “I’ve been ready.”

The planks of the wide porch creak beneath our feet as we cross it. Nahara pauses at the door, takes a deep breath, and then kicks it down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost there.... Thanks for reading!


	20. The Sun is Up and I'm Going Blind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Florence and the Machine, ['Delilah'](https://youtu.be/zZr5Tid3Qw4). And the video, including the voiceover at the beginning is a whole ass mood.
> 
> cw: body horror, references to suicide

In the fraction of a second between Nahara landing her kick to the door and the crash as it opens, everything is silent - infinite. Leaves pause midway through marking a gust of wind. The humidity hangs around me like a blanket trying to lull me into slumber. My heart halts between beats, anticipating something, something more than the low crack of a lock being forced through the heavy wood of the doorframe and the groan of forced hinges. 

Nahara sidesteps through the door, checks both directions inside, then motions for us to follow her. The hall we enter is far larger than the exterior of the house could contain. Broad curving stairs led up to a second floor. The others follow her in, fanning out around the doorway. Asra and I enter last. When I step past the threshold, a mammoth fireplace flares to life on the opposite side of the room, flames reflecting off mirrors only to be absorbed by the dark walnut paneling lining the walls.

Other than the crackling of the flames, everything is silent.

On either side of the hall, doors branch off from the entry hall. Nahara gestures to us into two groups to investigate, but the cat interrupts her, running to the door on the right and pawing insistently at it. Nahara’s golden eyes meet mine. Her eyebrows lift just a little in question, and I nod. Follow the cat. 

Nazali nocks an arrow in their bow, and changes places with their sister to lead. They shove the door open with their shoulder and check the space with the same method Nahara used before. “Dema, Asra - get in here.” Their voice is a stage whisper, shaking with rage.

My chest convulses as if a chain has been jerked around my ribs. Asra lets go of my hand and rushes past Nazali. I catch myself against the doorframe. It’s dark inside. Cold. But not empty. Off to one side, Julian hangs upside, trussed up in chains and suspended from the ceiling. One leg stretches above his head and the other is bent at the knee. Heavy chains wrap around his shoulders and torso, smaller chains criss cross over his lips. _Is he breathing? Oh god, I can’t tell._ Behind me, Portia gasps, and Mazelinka curses under her breath. _I’ve got to get him down. Get him down now._ Asra winces from the heat of the fine chains as he pulls them away from Julian’s mouth. He passes his hands back over Julian’s face, healing the cross-hatched burns. Julian’s eyes flutter open. He moans and leans into the touch.

Asra’s hands reach for the heavy chains. “Dema -”

“Wait!” Julian gasps. His lip crack and a drop of blood runs down to his nose. “Don’t -”

“Asra, we can’t.” I feel tears forming in my eyes as my mouth shapes the words. When I walk across the room, the dancing slippers don’t make any more of a sound than a ghost would have in passing. “Not yet.”

“I can’t leave you like this!”

“Can’t harm you -” Julian strains to speak. “Not while he has me.”

“Oh hell...” Asra presses his cheek against Julian’s.

If I stretch my arms, I’m just able to touch Julian’s fingers where they’re pinned to his chest. “First we tangle the Devil in his own chains. Right?” _Please, please tell me I’m right. Tell me this will work somehow._

“Yeah. The tree, with the chains, at your parents’ gate, Asra, remember? Like that.”

“We’ll be quick.” I brush my fingers over his knuckles. _Not quick enough._ There’s no way to be quick enough at this point.

Julian squeezes his eyes shut again. The chains Asra pulls from his face are still burning, scorching lines of red across his neck. He barely manages a whisper. “Kiss his ass.”

A yowl draws everyone’s attention. The cat sits on her haunches in front of a second door, scratching at the polished surface. Nahara looks at the little creature, then quickly reformulates her strategy and issues new orders. “Captain, Portia - stay with Julian. The rest of us are with Dema.”

Portia takes Asra’s place next to Julian, leaning her forehead against his. Mazelinka draws the sword at her side and widens her stance, ready to defend them both. “Go. Quickly.” It’s a command. 

Nahara storms the door so quickly that the cat can barely dart out of her way. We follow her into a wide ballroom. The glow of bright chandeliers reflects off the marble parquetry floor. Flames roar behind high windows, illuminating the space and raising the temperature well past comfortable. My heart throbs in my ears and sends lightning through my veins. A laugh rumbles from the gilded mezzanine that wraps around the room. Yes. We were expected. 

“Dema, Dema. Still pulling other people into your messes, I see.”

“Fuck you.” Nazali raises their bow and lets an arrow fly. The Devil dodges it easily, but the curl of Nazali’s lips suggests that they gained some satisfaction from their outburst. “I’d come for you without her.”

“Over him? You humans really do get attached so easily.” The Devil rolls his shoulders and sighs. “Very well, I suppose. This will be entertaining at least.” 

He lifts his blackened hands. The ballroom floor shakes beneath our feet. Smoke oozes up from the seams between the polished stone, resolving into vaguely human shapes. The creatures hiss and spin, before roiling across the floor toward us.

Nahara shouts an order to spread out as she runs forward. Muriel and Nazali follow on her heels, then break into an arc. Nazali’s arrows fly into quick succession, piercing holes through the horrors. The damage almost immediately fills in with grease. 

Asra grabs my hand and drags me to one corner, while Aisha and Salim run for the other. A greasy tentacle hits Salim across the face. There’s no visible damage, but for a moment he looks confused, before shaking it off as Aisha claps their hands together and a shield of ice and snow whirls around them. 

Asra copies his mother’s gestures, doing the same for us. Energy crackles from my blood and my fingers. I launch a ball of it into the group nearest us. They scatter from the force, but as with the arrows, little harm appears to have been done. Across the room, Salim extends his arms. Flames pour from his palms, crashing into the monsters. They ignite, shrieking as they turn into a mess of fire and oily smoke. The fire pushes other shades back into the space where Muriel swings his bladed staff like a scythe, cutting through the mass, only for them to reform, diminished but still very much there.

Asra flings out his hand. Enchantment arches across the room. Where it strikes the bladed staves, fire courses along the weapons, turning them into a whirling inferno that consumes the creatures and freezes me to the spot with blood pounding in my temple. Fire. I can’t see anything except the fire.

“Stay with me!” Asra drags me further from the center of the room. He crouches down and touches the floor. A spear of ice explodes under his hands, and he launches it at the mezzanine. The Devil ducks low beneath the balustrade, dodging the spear, then vaults over the railing, landing on all fours. Chains rise from where his claws pierce the stone, lashing toward me. Nahara and Nazali regroup with Aisha and Salim as Muriel pulls out of the charms he made from bits of vine and twig and rolls it across the floor. It collides with the chains, deflecting them away from us, giving me a moment to collect my wits. Can’t let fire - fear - stop me. Not right now. Not with Julian as the stakes. 

Asra’s parents are fighting in tandem, Aisha attacking with spears of ice as Salim raises walls from the ground to block the chains. They shatter on impact but are an effective deflection. Agile as a cat, Nahara dances between the chains, stabbing at the Devil's form with her spear. She makes contact several times but leaves no wounds on Devil's form - a pest, but powerless to be more than a distraction. 

I race forward, directly at the Devil. No plan, not really, even as lightning crackles along the sigils marked on my palms. A chain whips toward me. I catch it on my forearm, and gasp at it sizzles against my skin before dropping away. I catch it on my forearm. For a second, my vision goes blank as my skin sizzles, but when the chain crumbles away, there’s no new damage to my arm. No harm. Just the initial pain. All in the words. It’s all in the exact words that were said. The Devil stills. His red eyes widen, turn black, and then he flings another chain at me. A wave of ice appears in front of me, breaking the chain’s velocity and sending it snaking across the glossy floor. I glance to my side. Asra and Aisha are working in concert. Asra concentrates on covering me while Aisha directs spears of ice at the Devil, distracting him as much as she can. 

I grab the next chain the Devil throws, bracing myself for the searing burn, but instead of trying to shatter it, I throw it back, using magic to whip it in a wide arc. Asra breaks from his mother and grabs the end, circling around, pulling the metal links taut against the Devil’s back. Before he can respond I snatch another chain from the floor and throw it to cross the other one, wrapping around his body from the opposite direction. If catching the chains was painful, manipulating them feels as though I’m becoming the fire itself. Staggering from the pain that courses through me, I tug the free ends back to my hands and pull as hard as I can, trying to pin the Devil’s arms to his sides. 

For a moment, I think it’s not going to be enough. I’m not going to be enough. Then suddenly Asra’s arms are around me, helping me pull the chains tight, and then an even more massive presence behind Asra. The Devil looks at us in shock as his arms are pinioned next to him. With a sob, I seize the other chains from around the room with my magic and whip them in arcs around the Devil, tangling them in and around each other, catching him in a tight net. The links convulse as he strains against them, but none of his movements seem to weaken them.

There’s a roar and the black cat - now as large as a panther - leaps onto the Devil, knocking him to the floor. Even with the cat’s help, even with Asra, Muriel, and now the others behind me, we can’t stand and hold the end of this chain indefinitely. The tree - it hadn’t mattered, the chains had tangled themselves, and there was no one there to work them loose. Here, though, the Devil is restrained, prone on the floor, but without us holding the chains taut, he would work his way loose.

The fire from the chains pulses into me. Through me. Until it feels like it’s all of me. All I have. _The only thing I have to work with._ I push it back out, into the chains themselves - not to break them, but to melt them into each other. My vision blackens and my ears ring as the fire sweeps through me, and for a second all I can see is an island covered in ashes and men in bird masks. They have a girl by the wrists and feet, hair falling around her head in tangles. _Run, girl! Run or you’ll die._ A whisper from the past. _Leave this place, these people._ A final temptation.

_This isn’t how it happens._

_Not this time._

I’m not alone this time. There are arms around my waist, and a head pressed against my shoulder. And - a ribbon of power of magic, violet and clever and reckless weaves around my fingers - this fire can’t harm me. Hurt me? Oh yes, it tears at the edges of my consciousness, but it can’t harm me. The Devil can’t harm me. A voice whispers in my mind: _You are stubborn, you are brave. You can. You will._

Just beyond my blistering fingertips, the links of the chains soften from the heat. Almost enough. I close my eyes and extend my senses - past Asra, beyond Muriel, past the others, into the universe itself. Stars in the sky, molten stone beneath mountains, struggling to the surface. This power wants to come. It wants to be free. To pour through me, along the sigils traced on my hands, and back out. Set aside this being that would try to claim it all. I steel myself and draw it in along with my breath. 

And with a final scream, I let myself go entirely into the fire flowing through me and out into the chains that surround the Devil . . .

. . . A wall of water pours over me and I hit the floor, chest heaving and hands shaking. Asra crouches next to me, running his hand over my face and breathing my name into my ear. Beyond us, the chains have fused together into a solid cage around the Devil. It reverberates with his howls, but it holds. I clutch Asra’s shoulder and try to stand. _Julian._ I’ve got to get Julian loose. My knees give under me, and Asra catches me before I fall again.

“Breath, sweetheart,” he whispers.

Asra pulls me upright and together we stagger back to Julian. His eyes are wide, and he starts to protest as I lift my hands. “Dema, you don’t -”

“Julian, my love, you are talking too much,” I mutter as I wrap my hands around the chains holding him. They burn my hands for a moment, scorching skin that I’m surprised to still have, and then that familiar emptiness spreads through cutting through limits and past boundaries, a wind whipping ahead of a rainstorm, birds bursting in tandem into the sky that turns to night, the darkness between the stars as they push away from each other. Then a hand - father’s hand - pointing out the constellations that give form to the sky. And then I’m falling, falling back, blinding lights shooting through my eyes and into my skull. 

The three of us fall into a tangled heap on the floor as Julian’s chains shatter. Salim and Aisha are there a moment later. Magic pours from Salim’s hands, healing the burns that cross Julian’s body.

Portia’s shout draws our attention to the smaller salon where Julian is still suspended from the ceiling. “Get away from him you creepy ass motherfucker!” Mazelinka, Aisha, and the Satrinavas rush after her. Beyond the door, I can see her launch herself at Valdemar's horned figure, armed with nothing more than a staff and rage. Muriel hauls me to my feet and dashes back toward the ballroom, dragging me with him. We’re not done yet.

The demon shifts gradually into their monstrous form, bandages falling away and new limbs bursting through to replace ones cut away. Chains still loop around them, binding the disparate parts together. Claws fling out, catching Portia and sending her flying into the wall with a sickening thud. Mazelinka screams something obscene and incoherent and runs at Valdemar. 

The cat joins the fight, leaping at Valdemar with a piercing howl. Her body expands even more as she traverses the arc. She’s larger than any panther when she slams into the demon. Sharp teeth close around one of the multiple arms and rip it away.

Three more burst forth between the links of Valdemar’s chains.

Not enough. Still not enough. Not until I break the chains holding the demon together. I pull myself to my feet. 

“Pasha!” Leaning heavily on Asra, Julian stumbles to where Portia is crumpled on the floor. He touches her neck, then gets back to his feet, looking ready to run into the fray with nothing except his fists. Asra grabs his arms and holds him, with far more ease than he would have if Julian weren’t already weakened.

“Julian.” My voice is clearer than I expected. “I’ll do this.”

Julian’s eyes widen and I can see him about to protest. “Dema?”

_“Trust me.”_

What I’m asking of Julian might be more than I can manage myself. There’s no deal protecting me now. Valdemar can certainly harm me, would certainly love to divide me into component parts and examine each one. But... I howl like the cat as I throw myself forward and slam into their body. They spin both of us around in macabre, laughing madly. When the claws let go, I topple backward, but something keeps me from falling to the floor. 

“Oh, this is a magnificent development, little fool!” Multiple mouths display yellowed and sharpened teeth. “Perhaps not entirely unexpected.”

I’m half suspended in the air, heels barely touching the floor. I look down at my body. Chains wrap around my arms and my chest. Not Valdemar’s. Gold and silver and copper, and even set with amethyst and tiger eye. _Ones of my own_. They trail back to Valdemar, interweaving with the chains holding them together. There’s no way to take them apart. Not without destroying both.

“I knew you weren’t much more than a puppet.” Valdemar kneels in front of me. The chains go slack, and I crash down, head knocking against the floor. Their breath is rank and fetid on my face. “So, how will you manage this, fool?”

There’s not much of a choice and no time to think about it. I lift my hands and close my fingers around the chains looped around Valdemar’s neck - some of theirs, some of mine. My head spins from where it crashed against the stone tiles. I let it drop back again, praying that whatever power I have left can act without me.

"You're just the same as me. Not entirely dead, not entirely alive." They flick one of their limbs, and the heavy chain tightens around my arm, burning metal digging into the skin, into the scars. "Shall we go down together, little fool?"

My lips contort into a grimace as I twist and turn about wrapping myself more thoroughly in the glowing links, the crude ones that belong to Valdemar, the finer ones that are mine. I’m past feeling the pain now, past hurt. I can see the hair on my arms scorching and skin peeling back.

"I'm _nothing_ like you." Another scream leaves my throat as my fingers close around the chains. Fire pulses through the lines and symbols on my palms, a roaring wave whipped by the wind and...

...Brilliant sun. Brilliant sun and salty and stinging. Shards of light reflected from waves, blossoming, exploding, cutting...

Wild wind whips my hair into my face. 

I’m standing on the edge of a cliff. Waves crash somewhere below, but I only see clouds when I look down.

_Am I dead? Again?_

A loud purr at my feet draws my attention. The little cat rubs against my legs and purrs. I crouch down and pick her up, cradling the warm body against me. _At least, I’m not alone._ My chest seizes with a shuddering gasp as fingers fold around my shoulder.

“No, little one, you’re not alone. And you’re not dead, not yet.”

I turn around slowly, careful not to lose my balance and step backward and off the cliff. A figure wrapped in harlequin colored robes stands behind me. Scarves obscure their eyes, but they’re smiling gently. 

“Who are you?”

They take my hand and step away from the cliff. “That’s a good question. But one without an answer. Come. Sit with me.” The wind softens as we walk further from the edge, along a path. Sunlight imbues the white roses on either side with a golden glow.

I follow them to a stone table. Or perhaps an altar. Or both. They wave their hands and two folding chairs appear on either side. The cat settles into my lap as I sit down. Suddenly, the being is perched in the opposite chair without ever going through the motions of sitting. I’m not even surprised anymore, much less impressed, but I suspect this one doesn’t care. Their fingers steeple in front of them for a moment drum together happily, then hover over the table. A deck of cards appears beneath their palms. They pick them up and shuffle absently as roses with five petals creep up the sides of the table.

“You’re the Fool, aren’t you?”

“It might be better if I asked: who are you?”

“Me?” My laugh begins as an awkward chuckle then quickly becomes a hysterical cackle. I fold my arms on the table and lean my head down on them. The little cat huffs in protest and squirms out of my lap. “A puppet. Fragments chained together into something that seems to be human.” What should I answer? How can I answer? “A monster.”

There’s no response except the cooing of the wind and the distant sound of waves. Why should I expect one? When I lift my head, their scarves have fallen back, and they’re watching me with sad eyes. I still wouldn’t be able to describe their face, not even with a knife to my throat. It shifts as I watch, features blending into each other.

“Is that what you believe?”

“I don’t -” I have to pause for a moment to catch my breath. Tears sting my eyes, and I’m not sure whether they go with the prior laughs or with the sobs that are building in my chest. “I don’t know what to believe. I’m caught in what other people have told me. In the things I’ve had to do. In chains.”

“Yes.” They nod and lay down the top card from their deck. “Ones you made for yourself, others into which you were made. Even some you were born with.”

They turn the card over. _The Queen of Wands_ faces me, enthroned with her sunflower scepter and a cat sitting at her feet. Without thinking about it, I reach down. The little black cat stretches up on her back legs and nudges my hand. She’s led me this far, even when my conscious thoughts told me that there was no way left for me to go. The Queen’s cat is sometimes interpreted as her inner self. A well of confidence and determination. Deep knowledge of herself. 

“I saw her before.” I try to count the days that have passed since the new moon and all of this started, then give up. The reading I did then was about ambitions, missions, goals. “Reversed. If... if I failed.” I couldn’t have verbalized mine at the time. Just vague frustration and confusion with everything, with myself. Then Asra left, Nadia knocked on my door, and Julian practically tumbled into my lap. “I can never decide if the card is facing the reader or the querent. Am I upright or reversed?”

“Also a good question, if I ask it.” They lay down another card. _The Fool_ . Of course. _The Fool_ had been in the reading as well, hiding behind the other cards. “Which are you? What are you? Which will you be?”

“I don’t see any chains on her.” I trace the edge of the card with my finger. Lions on the sides of her throne and on banners above her. Like those pulling _the Chariot_ . Like the one tamed in _Strength_. 

“That doesn’t mean she never had any.” 

No. It doesn’t. The Major Arcana are concepts, powers, eternal. Even the ones that are changeable are constant in that aspect. Waypoints of a journey. The Minor Arcana - especially the court cards - are reflections of persons caught within that journey. The queens have passed the anticipation of the pages and the inconsistency of the knights. _The Queen of Wands_ is serene in the face of the unknown, at peace with herself in all her aspects. She is herself. She owns herself. She’s not a patchwork of the dreams and wishes of others. Not poorly stitched back together from fragments of the past. If she was once like me, she’s found her center. Not haunted by the threat of spinning so fast that she flies into a million pieces. 

“What if the Devil's chains are the only thing holding me together?”

“Are you really _you_ with them?”

Even doubt I've ever had. Every worry that I'm something that Asra conjured from nothing, a fever dream of Julian's, a lost little mad girl, ranting to herself while walking at night... “Do I have another choice?”

The Fool lays out three cards underneath the Queen. The first is lonely with a gap separating it from the second and a third. Then they lay a single card beneath the first of those and four under each of the others. “There is always a choice.” I'm not surprised when they turn over the first card. _Death_.

“I die.”

Their chin tilts down in a solemn nod. “You die. You give in. Valdemar kills you. Perhaps they use your power - my power - to reforge the chains holding them together and they come that much closer to the future they envision for themselves. Or perhaps they are too weak. But for you -” The Fool turns over the card just beneath Death. _The Four of Swords._ “Rest.”

“I don't...” My voice falters, and I rub at the scars on my left arm. 

“Yes?” Their eyebrows arch expectantly.

“I don't want to die.”

“Then don't. Reject Death now, and you have other choices.” They turn over the second and third cards. _The Chariot_ and _The Ace of Cups._ “Do you want to explore them? We have no time, and so we have all the time.”

I start to open my mouth, then close it, and shake my head. _Is this the first time I’ve ever said those words aloud? I don’t want to die._ One momentous choice is enough for today. “Not yet.”

“Of course, you may still die. But know that isn’t always a choice once the dice have been cast.” Despite the statement, they smile at me and sweep the cards away. “You know what you have to do now.”

“I'm scared.” I've been shattered before. I remember just enough of that first year after Asra brought me back to never want to be like that again. _Never._

“Sometimes you have to fall apart in order to come back together.” They lean over and scratch the cat behind her ears. She rubs against their hand, then with a deliberate look at me, prances back along the rose lined path and leaps over the edge of the cliff. The Fool waves at her as she goes then turns their face - shifting through multiple visages once again - back to me. “I have some things for you. I’ve kept them, as surety, but if you see this through, the debt is paid.”

As the Fool reaches across the table, their face settles for a moment into my own. With a grin, they thump my forehead with a finger that sears like a hot iron. My memories, if I want to buy them back myself. 

With a whirl of iridescent cloth, the Fool is gone.

I swallow hard as I stand up and walk back to the edge of the cliff. It's going to be... I don't know what it's going to be. I can't look down. If I look down I won't take this step forward, and...

_Fall apart. Fall apart and you will finally be able to come back together._

_I'm not sure. I'm not sure at all._

_I’ve made my decision._

I don't know if I’m hearing a new scream pour from my lips or the end of the scream that began as I was pulled into the Fool's realm. There’s no up or down, I drift aimlessly in the dark grey smoke curls around me. I lift my hands, hoping to feel something in front of me. As I watch, the left turns to cinder then disintegrates into ash. It doesn't hurt. It feels like a relief, a trimming away of something that wasn't really part of me anyway. I could just let go. Let all this go and give in to the smoke. I’m so tired.

With a cackle, Valdemar’s monstrous figure pushes through the clouds of ash, dragging a mass of chains after it. Pieces fly away from where the chains are loose. Birds, driftwood, other things that have rotted past recognition. They snarl and pull at the chains. The corresponding burns remind me that we’re still tangled together.

“At least I get to enjoy this last irony, little fool. You may win, but only because you're like me. It isn't easy, being both dead and alive. How will you manage?

I force myself to stop drifting, to find something solid beneath my feet. If this is the end, I’m not going to die tossed about like a sack of bones. Not this time. Valdemar’s chains are beyond my reach. Mine though. I wrap my hands in silver and gold and gems and steel. The links are brittle beneath my fingers. They burn, whether into me or out of me doesn’t matter. Cracks begin to spread link by link through the metal to the chains twisted around Valdemar. 

“I’m not like you. Not at all.”

“Who are you to judge me? You're a monster yourself - an exquisite corpse. A body stitched back together from pieces. A dead girl's soul. All paid for with half of a heart.” A link breaks, and a vulture flies away - only to dissolve into the ash and smoke of this place. Valdemar groans, but their toothy smile never fades. “Now you know, you haven't been alive for a long time - not really. It's just a role, and you've never even been a good actor.”

“But I’m not dead either.” A sense of calm pours over me as I step toward Valdemar. I still don’t know what will happen, but I have to see this through. I _will_ see this through.

“You'll come here again, and again, until one day, you can't find your way back.” Another piece of Valdemar falls away, skittering off into the smoke. For me though - for me with each link that shatters, I feel parts of me coming back together.

“And so?” My reply is soft, more for me than for the creature that will soon cease to be. They may be right. I may be an upright queen today, and a reversed one tomorrow, or a knight charging at windmills. But - “Today isn't it.”

Valdemar gnashes their teeth as their legs decompose beneath them. They fall into the floor with a hollow metallic clatter. A strange peace comes over me as I push my hands - whole again now - forward concentrating the power into a ball of sizzling light. Slowly, I approach the demon. The remaining chains barely hold the seething tortured tangle of their body together. Pitiful. I spin the light out from my hands in a thin tendril that wraps around the final chains tethering the two of us together. With a jerk of my fingers, I pull the thread tight, slicing through links. Heat rushes through me, and blinding light fills my eyes.

There's a roar of fire, followed by an explosion of silence.

I'm lifted from my feet and thrown back by the force of years. Snippets of years, blurring together. Cutting biscuit dough with an upturned glass. There's a trick to getting it loose. Just the right snap of the wrist. Piles of red-gold leaves in autumn. Nibbling snap peas fresh from the garden. How my fingers smarted from the switch when I asked too many questions. Daddy was angry. He taught me himself after that. Getting lost in the city. So terrified the first time. Then on purpose, so I'd know it better. The bridges over the river. The bridges. Hunting for the new litters of kittens in the dusty back corners of barns. Fragrant sweet tobacco drying in the rafters. Collapsing, chest heaving, against a building because, because... 

My teeth knock together as my head hits the floor, but the jolt barely registers beneath the weight of memories pressing into my skull. 

Vision black. 

The ringing in my ears rises higher - too high - and with a final burst disappears.

Julian's cursing. In several languages. Everything hurts. There are cool, slightly rough hands running across my face, my arms, the rest of me. It hurts less, a little less, where they've touched. Asra. I think. A little moan escapes my lips, and I start to let my eyes open, only to squeeze them shut tightly when the light hits them.

“Dema? Dema, please be okay. Please.” Asra's voice. 

I start to push myself up with my left arm, then drop back with a yelp. It hurts. Raw and open. It hasn't hurt like that since... _Oh._ Yes. I remember the last time it hurt like that... 

_I remember?_

A strong arm gingerly wraps around my back and lifts me up - even that hurts - until I'm cradled against Julian's chest. That has memories too. Better ones. Safety. Safer, at least. “I've got you, darling.”

“Sweetheart.” Asra's breath brushes against the back of my neck, followed by his cool hands. Cool like water. Swimming. In a cave, I think. So deep. Healing the damage. At least, some of it. “You're alright?”

I hazzard opening my eyes. Julian blocks most of the light, but I can still see where the chains burned my hands and arms, even if the skin is healing back where Asra has touched them. He’s holding my left arm very gently. It’s at a funny angle, not just burned. Asra brushes his fingers over it and bites his lip when nothing rights itself. Everything is still there, all five fingers and all. They just look further away than they should. I lift my head a little. “Hey, you. Both of you.”

“Oh, thank God!” Julian's lips brush against my forehead. “Hey yourself,” he whispers in my ear. “Now, don’t move, okay.”

Move? I don’t want to move. I settle against Julian letting him stroke my hair and whisper endearments, while I try to concentrate enough on my breathing to help with the layers of hurt. Burns and breaks and bruises and the crushing weight of years worth of memories. 

Then I remember Portia and everything in the past seems insignificant. I grab Julian's shoulder with my right arms, jerking myself to look past them. “Portia, is Portia alright?”

“She’ll be alright. Salim and Nazali have her... Careful, sweetheart.”

Portia is sitting upright, leaning on Nahara and rubbing her temples. I scan the room. What’s left of Valdemar is a heap beneath the egg-shaped mass of metal that contains the Devil. Muriel and Aisha walk slowly around what’s left of them bearing witness as it returns to its natural state. Moisture evaporates to mist and curls into the air, rising up to some kind of light breaking through. Mushrooms grow over the decay. Greenery follows, pushing around and through the Devil’s prison, hardening into a smooth-barked tree. Death. Death freed and followed by life.

It’s perfect. Too perfect. They turned into a tree! A ficus, I think. Damn things are nearly impossible to kill. I convulse with laughter. Then choke and cough as something stabs in my chest. 

“Shit!” Julian touches my jaw and runs his thumb over my lip. “Darling, does it hurt when you breathe?” 

I nod then tuck my face against his shoulder. “That’s bad isn’t it?”  
“Well, um, you’re not coughing up blood.” He yells over his shoulder for Nazali. Asra trails his fingers over my shoulders. I can feel him trying to work a spell, just a simple one to numb the feeling, but it isn’t taking. I close my eyes. Hurts a little less without the light.

“What are we looking at, Ilya?” Nazali’s voice sounds like an echo.

“Broken arm. Cracked rib, I think, maybe not broken, and -”

“Contusions and burns.” Whatever they say next sounds very technical and very distant. “Asra, have you -”

“I - the magic isn’t working, not like it should -”

“Calm down. Lay her down, Ilya.”

Even gently, the motion jars my arm and chest. Julian mumbles apologies as a moan escapes my lips. Nazali leans over me and touches their ear to my chest. “Breath as deep as you can for me. Good girl. I know it hurts. One more. Good.” They sit and pat my right hand. “No lung damage. Salim, can you try to heal her?”

Another cool wave passes over me but doesn’t banish anything. Fingers brush over my forehead. “Dad, why isn’t it working?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t have trouble patching Portia back up.”

“Salim, we need to leave here. It isn’t safe to linger.” Someone else has joined the adults’ conversation. Aisha, I think, the tones are gentle and motherly. Julian pats my cheeks and leans close to me, whispering that I shouldn’t go to sleep. Not right now. 

“I know, but should we move her -” 

“If magic isn’t working, the best thing is to get her back to our realm. I can handle this there.” Nazali says something about a splint, and there’s a sharp crack of wood breaking. Then they’re moving my left arm, and I can’t not whimper, even though I know they’re not trying to hurt me.

Asra has my right hand in his. “Hang on, dear heart. Muri, will you carry her?”

“I can!” Julian tightens his fingers on my good arm. Someone is wrapping strips of fabric around the bad one.

“You’re the only one here without a physical body.”

“What the hell does that even mean?”

“Just let me do it.” Huge hands slide under my back and knees, lifting me up carefully. Muriel feels warm and safe, even though I'm still hurting all over and whimpering a little before everything starts to fade to black.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, guys! I made it through the climatic chapter. Now to get everyone home safely. ;)
> 
> If you've been reading along, thanks for sticking around. I love you, and I would love to hear from you.


	21. Random Pattern with a Needle and Thread

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Hedwig and the Angry Inch, "Exquisite Corpse"

I'm vaguely aware of how the marble floor groans as Salim raises a gate and then exclamations of delight and dismay as we step back into the palace. 

“Come. This way.” Nadia’s voice cuts through some of the confusion in my head. Then a slight jostle in Muriel’s pace sends another stab through my chest, up my spine, and to my eyes. The light is too much as everything goes black again.

Something pulls the darkness away like a shroud being lifted and along with it, the throbbing ache in my chest. I gasp as I rise up, lungs filling with air for the first time in what feels like far, far too long.

Someone catches my shoulders before I can fall back again.

“There you go.” Nazali cups the right side of my face. They peer in my eyes, holding a lamp close to and then far away from my face, having me follow their fingers, before nodding in satisfaction and allowing me to lean back against Asra’s shoulder. Salim and Julian speak quietly with them. Puzzled more than worried. That's good. I think. Maybe. The words twist and twirl, drifting to and fro. 

Julian pats my cheek until I open my eyes again, tries to smile at me, although it's not reaching his eyes. "Drink this, darling. It'll help." The right is still red. That doesn't seem fair. 

Once I’ve finished swallowing a foul-tasting liquid, Julian sets aside the cup and loops his arms around my shoulders. A new agony spasms through the haze of hurt in my arm as someone jerks the bones in my forearm back into place.

“Motherfucking son of a bitch!” The string of curses is the most coherent thing I've managed to say since blacking out while Muriel carried me from the Devil’s realm. Julian strokes my hair and murmurs in my ear. 

"Ah, good, you're with us." Nazali pats my hand. "Salim, give it a try, please."

As whatever Julian has me drink starts to kick in, everyone's voices start to drift away again. Asra lays a damp, cool across my forehead as a wave of cool passes through my arm. I turn my head a little, seeking out more touch, more reassurance. 

“That helped her arm, but it's not fully healed.” The intonation in Salim’s voice drops with resignation. “The cracked rib did better, it should be stable now.”

“Best splint her arm again then. Don't fret, Ilya. She'll be fine. Even if the bones have to heal on their own.”

I whimper a little as Nazali carefully stabilizes my arm in a padded splint. The bandages are tight. Tight, and if I shut my eyes, time amalgamates, and I’m not sure whether it’s the present or the past that the linen strips hold together. 

When Salim and Nazali leave, Asra and Julian get me out of my clothes. “Just cut them off,” I mumble as the sleeves catch on my arms. My chest still aches, although not nearly as much, when I try to lift my right arm, and there's a cacophony in my head - snippets of voices and images and feelings - and the only thing I want to do is sleep. Julian frowns, then does as I ask, tossing the scraps of fabric aside. 

Asra dabs blood and grime from my face and carefully slides my left arm into a soft, oversized shirt helps me get my right arm through the sleeve and does up the buttons. Julian holds a second cup to my mouth and tells me to drink before he bundles me into the bed. 

* * *

When I wake, I'm in a huge, soft bed, laying on my back with blankets tucked around me. I never sleep on my back. The light in the window is bright, near noon in once direction or the other. Fancy carved paneling on the walls absords the light from the windows, and velvet curtains hang in folds around the posts of the bed. Must be the palace, but not my humble, little guest room. 

Asra is asleep at my right with one hand resting just above my heart. Julian's long limbs wrap around him from behind. On the pillow between Asra and me, Faust is curled in a little ball of scales. She lifts her head sleepily and blinks at me, before tasting the air with her tongue.  _ “Friend! Awake?” _

I press a finger to my lips, and she bobs her head in understanding.  _ “Quiet.”  _ Faust uncoils herself slowly and moves to my chest, nose against mine.  _ “Friend remember.” _ Not a question. She knows.

“Yes.” I remember. So many things. Too many things. My head is starting to hurt from the cacophony, but not the way it did before, not a screech and slam, but a grinding of gears as whispers and intuitions connect.

Getting out of bed is easier said than done, even after Faust politely loops herself around Asra's arm and slides his hand from my chest. I can't roll onto my left side and every muscle protests when I flip my legs over the side of the bed and sit up. I catch my lower lip between my teeth to bite off a groan and not to make so much noise that I'll wake Asra or Julian. Just a couple of minutes to myself. I need that.

The bath is behind a single door near the bed, versus the double doors across the room that I presume lead to the hallway, or perhaps a sitting room because this does seem to be  _ that _ kind of palatial accommodation. Marble floors, of course, with a separate water closet on one side, a wide sink in the middle, and then a deep tub set in a shelf under a frosted window. Rinsing out my mouth and splashing my face with water - awkward to manage with a single hand - helps a bit; although, the image in the mirror hardly provides any evidence for that hypothesis.

Bruises cover the left side of my body. They're turning from blue and purple to green and yellow. Ghastly, but closer to healed than they should be after a single night’s sleep, so perhaps some of the healing magic is working on me. There's a dried blood left in the tangles of my hair. I want a bath. Then I want more of whatever concoction Julian had me drink last night and to get back into bed.

There’s a hesitant knock at the bathroom door. Julian. Asra would just walk in.

“S'okay.” My voice is rough, even after the water.

“Solnishka?” He looks over my shoulder. Our eyes meet in the mirror.

“Hey you.”

He chuckles and runs his hand along my right arm. “Hey yourself.”

“I think I'm alive. Shouldn't hurt this much if I'm dead.”

“You're alive, my darling.” He kisses the top of my head. “Very much alive.”

“Just a bit banged up. Very much banged up.”

“Um, yeah. Salim and Asra couldn't fix you up entirely. They don't know why, whatever damage you took, it's resisting magic. I guess? I didn't really understand. They were able to heal everyone else including Pasha.” He drops his eyes, rubs his hands together trying to stop them from trembling, then starts to ramble. “She was hurt worse than you, but she's fine now. Nadia had to order her to not try to help us get you settled last night. Just rest up. Salim is - well - incredibly skilled. He got your broken rib fixed at least. Maybe he can coax your arm into righting itself today or tomorrow. If not -” He shrugs and shakes his head. “Well, Nazali and I are confident it'll heal fine on its own with time. Clean break.” 

“I'm glad Portia is fine. I'm just sorry she went through that. Through all of this.”

“Anyway, that's probably more information than you wanted. How are you feeling?”

“Given that I fought a devil and demon, probably better than expected.” I scrape at the dried blood in my hair. It's a more immediate, more manageable problem than the other breaks and bruises. I think there’s a little cut above my left eyebrow. Hard to be sure. “But disgusting. Can I take a bath?”

“Yes, of course, I mean, better if we don't get that splint wet, but it'll be fine.”

“Definitely want to.”

“Warm is probably better than hot right now.” He fiddles with the taps at the tub until he's satisfied. “Asra and I tried to clean you up a bit, but mostly we wanted to get you in bed.”

“I remember Nazali setting my arm.” I turn around, lean against the vanity for extra support and start trying to undo buttons. Not the only thing I remember, not at all. Just the most recent thing. I can picture Julian in my kitchen, tugging at my hand until I join him in a washtub that's barely big enough for his long legs. He has a cheeky smirk on his face in the memory. Now there’s a furrow forming between his eyebrows.

“Ah, yeah, that's a bitch.” It's not clear whether he's talking about setting broken limbs or managing buttons with one hand. “Let me help with that.”

“Eager to get me out of my clothes, Dr. Devorak?” I raise an eyebrow, hoping to make him laugh. He doesn't smile enough. A lot. But not enough. Not without a hint of irony to mar the expression.

Julian rolls his eyes. “Always, darling, but I'll make a better show of it later, okay.” 

My legs are still wobbly enough that I'm grateful for his help getting into the raised tub. Even tepid, the water feels grand, and I sink back with a sigh.

“Keep that left arm out of the water. I'll find you another shirt. And send for some food.” “Mmm...” I close my eyes and tilt my head back against the edge of the tub, a little to the right as the bruising extends up my neck. I'm not sure I want to eat, at least anything that involves chewing.

Julian’s fingers brush over my forehead. “Try not to fall asleep in the bath, okay.”

Through the crack left in the door, I hear the quiet tones of conversation in the other room. Asra’s awake. I leave my eyes closed and drag my hand through the water, pushing and pulling at the resistance of the warm liquid. The hinges creak, just slightly, and after a moment, Faust’s tongue flicks against my cheek. 

“Sweetheart?”

I open my eyes. Asra is as rumpled as I am, or nearly so. The dark circles under his eyes don't seem to be bruises. “Asra.”

“Faust said, I mean, she told me, you remember -”

“Everything.”

“I'm so sorry. I never meant -”

“Don't, Asra. This isn't a conversation I want to have right now.” I lift my head and shoulders from the water. There’s enough room on the raised space around the tub to act as a bench. “Will you help me wash up. Think it might be a little hard to do one-handed.”

A soft smile warms up his face. “Of course.” He glances about, pushes my shoulders to get me to sit up, climbs onto the shelf, and swings his legs around behind me, dunking them in the tub. “How bad are you hurting?”

“Probably not nearly as bad as I look.”

Asra doesn’t reply. He reaches across me, and grabs a couple of the little bottles, dabbing the contents on his hand to figure out what they contain. “Can you duck your head without getting that splint damp?”

I slide forward a bit in the tub and tilt my head back, letting the water soak through the disaster on the top of my head. Asra’s hands slip under my shoulders and lift me back up. He patiently works the foamy shampoo through my hair, untangling a few of the knots with his fingers as he goes. Maybe I could identify the notes in the blend if my mind was fully functioning, but whatever it is, it smells divine. His hands stay at the back of my skull as I dunk my hair to rinse it. He hums softly as he works an oil through the wet strands. 

I let my right hand float in the water, swishing it back and forth. The inked sigils remain on my palm, resisting the water’s attempt to wash it away. I trail my fingertips over the phoenix tattoo that starts on my ribs and rises to the collarbone. I know what it looks like now. Even without a mirror. One mark that I chose for myself.

“Why have you always taken care of me, Asra? Not just the past three years. I know that -” The times before, or parts of them, ones that I'm not sure I want to remember. Not fully. “I know I'm difficult. At times.”

He curls his body around me and kisses the top of my forehead. “Because I love you. You're my heart. Someone I chose to be my family.”

“Asra...”

“You've never been too much, my love. No matter how many times you've feared it.”

I feel too fragile to argue, even though I want to. The need to hear those words is stronger than my lack of brief in them.

Asra straightens back up and selects a bar of soap from the assortment available. He's careful with my left shoulder, barely touching the skin with his hand as he smooths soap suds over the skin and drizzling water from his palm to wash them away. It tingles more than hurts, a disconcerting sensation of not quite being there, but the texture of the washcloth on my right shoulder and arm grounds me again.

I let him lift my right arm from the water. He rubs the bar of soap over my right palm; it foams but doesn't turn gray from dissolving ink. I swish my hand under the water, the marks remain, unaffected by the agitation. 

“I don't think they're coming off,” Asra says quietly.

“Another souvenir.” I lean back against his thigh and push my hair out of my eyes. “In case I forget.”

We're both silent. Asra runs his hands over my shoulders, then lightly up my neck and jaw to massage my temples. I sink into his familiar touch with a sigh.

“You offered to try to heal my scars once.”

“I did. Not so long after we first met.”

I nod. I refused. I never told him how I spent the next few days obsessively touching my left arm, trying to stick to running the back of my nails over it, just to feel something, to know it was real. He didn't ask again. “Did you love me more without them?”

“Never. I never -” He cuts himself off, and I hear his chest rise and fall. “No. No more half-truths. I loved seeing you without them. Before I understood what it meant. While I could still hope your memory would return on its own. But I never loved you more or less because of that.”

“I believe you.”

* * *

Julian returns with a salve with comfrey and aloe and arnica. Salim and Nazali both are with him. They wait in the other room while Asra gets me dried off, and Julian fusses over getting salve on the remaining bruises despite my protests that they're not that bad (lie). And even if the magic isn't a panacea, it's helping and they're heading fast (truth). He pulls a large short sleeved shirt over my head and tuts. “They have to hurt, darling, and I don't like seeing you in pain.”

It's not like I enjoy it either, but I don't like seeing him worry over something that he can't fix. That he doesn't need to fix because it's righting itself on its own.

Nazali undoes the splint and cautiously examines my arm. They have me move my fingers and palpate the tender area around the break, while I try not to make too many distressed noises. “The fracture is definitely healing more rapidly that it normally would. Salim, do you want to try again?”

“Might as well.” He lets his hands hover over my arm. Another wave of cool washes over me, but there's still an ache. He shakes his head. “A very little bit better, but not fully healed. I don't understand why your body is resisting magic, Dema. But it  _ is _ healing.” He cuts off the beginning of a protest from Asra. “Be patient, kiddo. This will be alright without you trying to force it.”

“We'll leave the splint on for now. I know it's annoying, but it's much better than rebreaking any of the regrowth.” Nazali pats my good hand and ruffle Julian's hair. “You can handle it from here, Ilya. Call me if anything else weird happens.”

Asra bundles me into a warmer robe. A servant had slipped in at some point with a tureen of chicken soup and some hot, buttery rolls that are soft enough my jaw doesn’t overly protest consuming one. Julian makes us eat. He even makes himself eat. Then my eyelids start to get heavy, and the bed - newly made up with fresh sheets - is calling my name. Asra tucks me in as comfortably as he can under the circumstances and kisses me. “We'll be here when you wake back up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like the epilogue is going to be broken up into a few parts... Keep finding threads I need to wrap up.


	22. I Guess I'll Just Begin Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Ready to Start', Arcade Fire.

When I wake up, Nadia is sitting in a chair beside my bed, an open notebook and a pot of tea in front of her on a small table. “Ah, good afternoon, dear. I sent Asra and Julian out to get a bit of sun.” She fills a second cup with delicately golden liquor from the tea pot, as I sit up and stretch my good arm. “Are you hungry?”

“Maybe a little.” I glance around. The blankets are tangled around my feet. I must have been kicking at them again.

“Good.” Nadia reaches over and tugs a little pull cord beside the bed, ringing a bell somewhere else in the palace. When I extend my hand to take the cup from the table, she touches my wrist. When I glance up her brows are low over her eyes and furrowed with concern. “I never meant for you to bear so much of this burden.”

“I don’t think anyone knew just how deep of shit we were in.”

Nadia’s eyebrows lift into an arch, then she laughs. “Yes, that might be a good way to put it. Deep shit.” She sips from her tea cup, and her face returns to a serious expression. “I have been thinking for the past few days. And talking, with my sisters - the ones who stayed behind that is, and Valerius. You were right to be skeptical of me, at first. I haven’t been a good ruler.”

I drink my tea, unsure of how to respond, even as Nadia looks me over, expectation of or hope for something in her gaze. She sets her cup back down, pinches the bridge of her nose, and touches her fingers to her mouth once the silence becomes too awkward.

“I want to improve the state of the city. It’s been neglected for too long. Not just the past three years, or during the plague. Even before, when I could have done something, but instead I was caught up in some sort of glamourous fiction.”

A servant with a tray of sandwiches and fruit interrupts her thoughts. They set the refreshments on the table in the space opened up when Nadia closes her notebook, and exit with a slight bow after she thanks them. I stab a bit of melon with a fork and chew it quietly, still not sure what Nadia wants from me now.

“When I convene a new court, I hope to have your advice. How to make sure that the needs of the common people are represented.”

“I don’t know if... I’m one person. And I haven’t been the most engaged myself.” I’m not even sure I want anything like she’s proposing. There’s so much of me clamoring in corners of my mind that haven’t seen the light of day for years. So much of me that there isn’t enough of me. Not for this.

“Perhaps you can help me find the right people though. And -” She nibbles at the edge of her thumb, anxiety breaking through her composure. “Keep me honest in the endeavor.”

I close my eyes and think for a moment, unsure if I want to dig myself back into anything else concerning the palace. “There are people, usually one or two in each neighborhood, who sort of hold everything together. Settle minor disputes, that sort of thing. Like everyone just agrees to listen to them. You might seek them out.”

“Perhaps Portia’s grandmother?”

I shake my head. “She hasn’t lived here long enough. Still, she might know who has.”

“It’s a place to start.”

The fruit isn’t sitting too heavy in my stomach, and I trade out the fork for one of the miniature sandwiches, nibbling cautiously at the edges, while Nadia watches approvingly.

“You’ve lost weight in the past couple of days. Julian has been frantic about it.”

“Hmph... Julian can’t throw stones.”

Nadia laughs and spoons sugar into my tea. “Well, that’s true. I made Asra promise to get him to eat something too if it will make you feel any better.” 

“And I threatened to snitch on him to Mazelinka.”

“Portia!” I exclaim (and drop the sandwich into my lap - graceful). She looks both chipper and hale, grinning from ear to ear in the doorway.

“Heard you were finally awake, sleepyhead.” Her hug is a bit awkward as she tries to dodge both my splinted arm and the sandwich, then she plops down at the foot of the bed. “Or well, since I got back from my mandatory vacation.” She rolls her eyes in Nadia’s direction.

“She wouldn’t stop trying to put the palace in order.” Nadia sips primly from her teacup. “I had Nahara kidnap her for a few days.”

“I was fine!” Portia protests, but she smiles coyly and fiddles with her sash. “We went sailing.”

“After what I’m told you went through, you needed a few days to rest.”

“Psh. You and Ilya. Salim had me fixed right up.” 

Nadia rolls her eyes and drops her head back in a perfect picture of exasperation. “Your back was broken!”

“And now it feels about ten years younger!” Portia stretches her arms over her head to emphasize the point. “Oh, sorry, Dema, I didn’t mean to...”

“I’m glad you’re alright. Besides, I’m still healing faster than I should.” The last theory Salim posited was that my body had been ‘taken apart and put back together magically’ too many times in short order, and it was just noping out of more interference. Not the most comforting hypothesis, even with how quickly the various bruises and cuts healed back.

“Well, that’s good. And probably the only reason why Ilya hasn’t pulled out all his hair.”

To be honest, Julian has been handling everything better than Asra. He's not used to instantaneous healing, and just seemed relieved that I'm in one piece and on the mend. Asra, on the other hand, seemed to consider every additional moment some sort of cosmic affront.

“Nadia has been telling me she plans to make some changes.” That’s a more appealing topic than whatever remains wrong with me. “To the city and the court both.”

“Ooooo... Yes!” Portia claps her hands together gleefully. “My new role is secretary, but we're still working on a snappier title. Of course, I'm just glad to get rid of those weirdos.”

“The palace is already immensely improved. Valerius is searching for actual laws to charge Vlastomil and Vulgora under. Perjury comes to mind, but he thinks it to be insufficient.”

“Or you could just let Nahara and Mazelinka make them ‘go away.’ Easy.”

“I would like to start out on a better foot than disappearing people.”

“And Volta?”

“On account of the help she provided, and as her crimes don't seem to have been as grave, I have pardoned her. She assigned herself to be a kitchen assistant.” 

I lift one eyebrow. All things considered, pardoning Volta is a reasonable act of mercy, but I can only imagine the chaos of allowing her near the kitchens.

“I am told she is quite satisfactory in the job.” Nadia's lips curl into a gentle smile. “Her enthusiasm for food remains, but releasing the chains restored a measure of control. And she has been happy to accept direction.”

“The changes in the city though...” I’m interested. Even if I’m not at all sure that she can reasonably expect me to involve myself. “What do you have in mind, Nadia?”

“Well, for one we’ve been discussing what to do with the Coliseum. I never again wish to see it used for trial, be it by words or blood.” 

Portia’s hands curl into fists. “It needs to be torn down.”

The Coliseum is too terrible, too stained with the rust red of blood from executions, haunted by cheers from the crowd. My stomach is starting to tense up and I swap the sandwich back out for the fruit. “Or perhaps remade. But not just left to haunt Vesuvia.”

“I do, as I told you before, want to open a library for the people to access. Maybe that can begin to redeem the structure. And if you pointed out, I have to find a way to offer formal education for those who desire it. A school perhaps? There is much to consider.”

“I like the idea of a school.” Portia’s statement is firm. “People should be able to learn to read if they want.”

“Nazali and Jules suggested using the space, or part of it, to found a hospital. A proper one, not just the hospices that some of the temples offer as comfort to the dying.”

A place for healing. Yes, perhaps that can make something horrible into something worth saving. “Will you include others in the city who know of healing? Not just the ones with a paper proclaiming them doctor?”

“Yes. Julian has told me of how much the apothecaries and midwives and wise women with hedge magics did during the plague. Certainly more than was ever accomplished at the palace. And people with skills like Salim's and Aisha's. Together will accomplish more good.”

“I still like the idea of tearing it down. Or just let Salim hit it with one of his fireballs. Boom!” Portia claps her hands together, giggles, and then claps her hands over her mouth. “Sorry.”

“To some extent it depends on cost. Valerius tells me that while the city's finances have been improving, our resources are limited. My mother, of course, has offered assistance. Once I would have considered that a failure, running away to hide behind mommy's skirts. Now, I am not so sure. Valerius doesn’t like it, of course, but he is willing to explore the idea.”

I let the two of them bounce ideas off of each other and settle on eating a sandwich. Then a second when Portia nudges it toward me. It’s good hearing Nadia speak of improvements, focusing on the future, rather than simmering in the leftovers of the past. And when I start to nod off, Portia tucks the covers around me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a dull one, I suppose, but I wanted to somehow wrap up things with Nadia.


	23. Wake Up, the Sun is Rising without You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Margot and the Nuclear So and So's, "Quiet as a Mouse"

Julian and I are both reading, stretched out on the sofa with our legs tangled up. I’m holding a novel open with one hand. Julian balances a clipboard on one knee, holding a graphite pencil between his teeth when he isn’t furiously marking up the document. A proposal for Nadia’s plans to repurpose part of the Coliseum as a proper hospital for the city amongst other things. I still wouldn’t be opposed to seeing it torn down.

Mostly though, the idea is too much to think about, and Julian has reassured me that it’s okay for me to zone out with a novel. _It’s in the treatment plan, darling. Yes. Relaxing with a book. Um, really are you sure that you don’t want something a little bit lighter. Well, okay, that is, strictly speaking a novel._

Julian jumps at an assertive knock on the door, and the clipboard and pencil both fall to the floor. “Just a second.” He curses a few times as he untangles his legs from mine and leans over to kiss me on the forehead, before getting up and padding on bare feet to the door, rolling his shoulders to stretch them out.

“Who is - oh, Artemis!” 

"Good morning to you as well, Dr. Devorak!" Artemis laughs and kisses Julian on both cheeks. "I hear there's been a mass recovery from this little plague of amnesia.

"Artemis! I'm so glad to see you."

"Why? So you can ignore everything I say?" She messes up his hair. "You look like you need a nap, boy. Dema, has he slept at all?"

I shrug. "If he has, it's been when I'm asleep."

"Hmm." She strides over to the couch and pulls me up by my good arm. "Let's give him a chance to fix that. Devorak, Dema and I are going out for a nice walk around town. You go lie down and take a nap."

"Where?" Julian's eyes shift to mine, and he combs his fingers through his hair. It takes me a moment to realize that he's asking about the walk and not where to nap. "Are you feeling up to it, darling? You don't think -"

"I _think_ Artemis can take care of me." I link my arm in hers. A walk sounds amazing, even better if it’s outside of the palace. "And that you should take a nap."

"Well, um, I guess... That might not be a bad idea. I have slept, I mean, but maybe not enough."

"Good. Get some shut eye now, you silly boy. I'll have her back for supper."

* * *

Some members of the palace staff pause in the middle of their tasks and bow as I walk by. Artemis manages to conceal how smirks at my discomfort until we’re outside and strolling across the bridge. "Not sure about being a hero, eh? Where's Asra? I expected me to show up in a swirl of smoke to stop me from kidnapping you by now."

"He went to the shop to get some normal clothes for me." I pick at the lace on my blouse while I walk. It's flat lace, not frilly, and Portia and Nadia's choices are getting closer to things I might pick out for myself. But they still aren't my clothes. "And a few other things.” I want to go home. I _want_ to go home, but I’m scared of what will happen when I step into the shop with so many familiar things. What memories will come pouring back from my subconscious to my waking mind and what will follow from how they wash over me like a crashing wave. I want to go home, and I’m not even sure where home is anymore.

Yesterday, I spent hours crying in Julian and Asra’s arms after seeing a bed of irises while walking in the palace garden. White, and purple, and sky blue. My father had irises, planted all around the house. There wasn't a story attached to the blooms that I could tell to set the memory free, just an ache and emptiness. When I finally fell asleep, I dreamt of my father, digging out iris beds that had overgrown, helping him break the roots apart and replanting them - into the old bed and into new beds that he dug until the house was surrounded by spiky leaves and frilly blooms. Falling asleep to the sound of rain beating on a metal roof. How the clay heavy soil became slippery with water and stuck to my fingers and in between my toes, a glaze to rinse off in cool creek water.

“I haven’t been back there yet. I don’t know -” I stop and rest my hands on the railing of the bridge. “It’s not like before when I started to remember something, and it just hurt all through my body. But it’s still a flood, reexperiencing something I had forgotten. Even random little things here, or Julian or Asra saying something...”

Artemis rubs my shoulder sympathetically. "So it's an experiment then, bringing you some of your own things?"

"Yes. The palace - I'd only ever been here once, with Julian, so there's not a lot. We're scared... I'm scared that the shop - all at once - that it would be too much."

"Or it might be more like taking out stitches. Best to do it quickly and get it over with."

"Maybe. I don't -" The two guards at the end of the bridge snap to attention and salute as I pass by them. I’m going to have to start sneaking out the back. “I just don't know.”

She pats my hand. "It'll be there when you're ready. Right now, we're going to walk to my house. Sibyl has been baking, and Eurydike has decorated several cookies for Auntie Dema."

"Adorable."

“I tried to tell her that you don’t like a lot of icing, but I’m not sure she listened.”

“She is only six.” Even I liked icing when I was six.

* * *

Sibyl’s cookies - even with too much icing - are something to look forward to. She’s one of the best pastry chefs in the city. She worked at a bakery in the Heart District - a fancy one, that Asra, Artemis, and I would go to every now and then as a treat. They had the best pies. A combination of pear and rose in late summer. And early spring through mid summer, they kept tart cherry pie - my favorite - in rotation longer than the local season, importing from the north first and then from the south.

Sibyl sometimes worked the counter in the afternoon. She’d hum a bit as she went about her chores. Asra watched as her eyes kept returning to our table, to Artemis. His tea cup barely hid his grin. And it was no mistake that he nudged our stack of dishes to Artemis. When she returned them to the counter, Faust slipped from Asra’s lap and followed behind her. I sighed, but he only continued to smile and tapped the side of his forehead. _Trust me._ Sibyl leaned across to take them from her, bringing their faces close together and whispering something.

He barely made it around the corner before nudging Artemis in the stomach with his elbow. “So? Tell me.”

Artemis rolled her eyes. “Hasn’t Faust already told you?”

“That you keep looking at her.” He danced on his toes and spun around, grabbing her hands. “And she kept looking at you. So. Out with it.”

“It’s nothing.” Artemis shook her shoulders out with a huff and tipped her head back to look at the sky. 

“I don’t think so.”

“Fine,” Artemis huffed, but I could see a smile forming in the corners of her eyes. “She’s off work at the evening bell.”

“And?”

“And she and a friend or two are planning to pass the evening at the Lucid Weasel.”

“Oh, what a lovely plan! Dema, we haven’t been to the Weasel in a while.”

“And they have such good drinks!”

"Oh, alright, you two." Artemis stamped her feet and tried to maintain the appearance of being annoyed and failing. "I take it we now have plans at the Weasel."

"If you say so." Asra looped his arm through hers. "First though, I think we need to get you dolled up."

Artemis groans. “I am going to regret this.”

* * *

One eyebrow raised in skepticism, Artemis watched Asra paint her nails with gold lacquer. “I knew I was going to regret this.”

“The enamel?” Asra looked up. “We can take it off if you still hate it tomorrow.” He holds the tip of his tongue between his teeth and continues to his work.

“These earrings will look pretty on you.” I hold out a paint of simple malachite drops. They’ll match her eyes and shouldn’t dangle so much as to be annoying. 

Artemis touches one with her free hand. “Those aren’t bad.”

“Good.” I trade out the simple silver stubs she’s wearing and tuck them into a little box where they’re less likely to get lost in the chaos of my things, and at least, quite a few of Asra’s things in the backroom downstairs. Anna said it was like having two magpies living with her, even if Asra was only here part of the time. “Eyeliner, Asra?”

“Of course! Think you can manage?”

“I hate you both.”

“You’re going to look fabulous.” I kissed her cheek. Then touched my finger to her upper lip. “Stray hair or two. Want me to take care of them.”

“Please.” That request wasn’t playing around. She jumped a little as I brushed my thumb over her lip and dissolved away the fine growth.

“All done. Close your eyes for me.”

“Not too much....”

I apply very thin lines above her thick lashes, drawing just a little bit out along the corner. “That’s why you want me doing this and not Asra.”

“Hey!”

I ignored Asra’s protest, asked Artemis to look up and got her lower lash line. “Okay, a little bit of shadow, darken your lashes, and a bit of blush.”

“Lip color.” Asra commented as he finished with her nails and cast a spell to set the enamel. “One of mine might work.”

“Both of you are putting a lot of enough into a lost cause.”

“Give yourself some credit. I mean, she all but asked you.”

“That’s a generous way of putting it.” Artemis waved her hands in front of her face, and despite herself smiled a little at the light glinting off the tips of her fingers.

Asra leaned back with a huff and stretched out. He could just reach his bag with his fingertips. “Fine. I’ll see what my cards have to say about it.”

The cards whispered and sighed as he shuffled them together. Artemis cut the deck when he offered it to her. She held her breath as he flipped over the top card. Not that I would have pointed that out to her.

The upright _Ace of Cups_.

“Aha!” Asra cackled with self satisfaction. “Can't argue with that. A new beginning of the heart!”

The corners of her mouth turn up, just a little.

* * *

The Weasel was packed, just like it always was on the evening before a rest day. Sparkling people, the usual arthouse mix of customers, all flamboyant colors and glittering makeup, hair piled high or cascading down backs. Sybil was already there when we arrived, looking radiant with her hair sparkling with silver powder and arranged in a halo around her face. She swept Artemis away from us within minutes, pulling her into one of the nooks tucked along the back wall for more private tete-a-tetes.

Asra just giggled as Artemis' eyes went at the welcome and got drinks for the two of us before claiming a small high table to people watch from. “I told her.” He fluttered his fingers, watching the light dance off his nails. He’d painted them the same gold as Artemis’. The Lucid Weasel's decor was as phantasmagoric as Asra's fashion sense. Colorful fairy lights drift across the ceiling, pulsing along with the music supplied by a rotating lineup of bands.

In the corner of my filled out vision, Artemis chatted with Sybil, visibly relaxing as the conversation started to flow between them. “You are entirely too smug about this.” I smiled even as I said the words and sipped my drink - the lurid purple, sour sweet house cocktail.

“I think I'm just smug enough. Oh, hello -” 

Two very drunk young women distracted him for a moment, cooing over Faust, and asking if he was _that_ fortune teller, and would he do a reading for them.

“Mmm... I'm off work right now.” He winked at them and made sure the dimple in his cheeks showed up. “But surely you know where you can find me tomorrow.” 

Faust bopped her head against his cheek as they wandered away, and he stroked her approvingly. “Yes, you are a very charming snake. Better for business anyway, I can probably sell them one or two of Muri's good luck charms if they come by.”

“How is he?”

Asra frowned and made a non committal noise. “He's taken to the chickens you gave him. You should come with me. You'll love the coop he made for them. Those birds might be more spoiled than yours are.”

“I'm glad. I'll come, if you think he'd like to see me.”

“He talks to you. That means he likes you. Even before -” Asra tipped his head back, sighed, then straightened back up and drank deeply. When Asra spoke of his and Muriel’s history, usually there’s only the before - painful, and hungry, and lonely, and cold enough - and the after, the now where Muriel hides lonely but safely in the forest. Acknowledging, much less discussing, the time in between was rare. “Even when we were little he didn't really talk to a lot of people. Just the handful he liked.” His chest rose, then fell slowly, as he set the cup back on the table. “Go check in with Artemis, Faust.” 

Faust disappeared, working whatever trick she uses to cross the floor unmolested and unseen. We sat in silence, watching the colors around us, twisting together the little fingers of our free hands, and Asra making the occasional catty or approving comment about someone's fashion experiment.

After a few minutes, Faust climbed up Asra's leg, paused for a moment in his lap, then slid around his shoulders and brushed her tongue against his ear. “All's well.”

“Should we stay?”

“Hmm. Artemis can take care of herself.” He leaned close, cheek against mine. “See anyone you fancy?”

I laid my hand in Asra's lap, ran my fingers asking the inside of his thigh, and turned my head to kiss his cheek. “Just you.”

* * *

“Hey, chica, where’d you go on me?”

I shake my head and push my hand through my hair, expecting my temples to start pounding. It doesn’t do that anymore. Remembering isn’t automatically pain. No. I smile at Artemis. Sometimes, remembering is pleasant. She and Sybil were married within a year. Eurydike arrived a year later, squawling and cooing and cuddling. “Just thinking about you letting Asra paint your nails gold.’

“Oh my god! That! Wait-” Her face breaks into a grin, and she leans over to wrap her arms around me. “You really do remember!”

* * *

Eurydike happily talks me through every step of making cookies while Sybil continuously tops up a mug of milky spiced tea, and I suspect that I’ll be on a sugar high for the rest of the day. Tam crawls in my lap before long and Artemis shifts him to my left side before he can put too much pressure on my bad arm. He plays with a cookie, more than eating it, breaking it into pieces and moving the crumbs around the table with stickier and stickier little fingers. Eventually, he yawns and tips his head back on my chest. I curl a little closer around him and press my face into his curly hair. He still smells like Eurydike did when she was a baby: milk, and soap, and sugar.

A different memory comes to mind, holding Artemis the night Sybil and Eurydike left, while she cried her heart out into my shoulder. I sigh and kiss the top of Tam’s head, he snuffles and leans closer to me. Old memories. New ones.

“More tea?” Sibyl asks brightly.

“Yes, please. A bit more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cookies!  
> Yes, Artemis and Asra really were friends. Maybe they will be again.
> 
> Artemis and Sybil also have... Peculiar taste in names. Or my not girlfriend does when I called her and said, "Quick, I need two names for kids!"  
> "Eurydike. I also wanted to saddle a child with that name. And, um, Tamlin."  
> Here's to _not_ having your children stolen by fairies or the queen of the underworld.


	24. These Mishaps You Bubble Wrap, When You’ve No Idea What You’re Like

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from [Frou Frou, "Let Go"](https://youtu.be/B0aOuLyCrzo)

Nazali and Salim declared my arm healed after a week and a half, instead of the usual six to eight weeks, so even if my body was refusing to fully cooperate at least it was responding to healing magic. It's a relief to have the splint removed, and I celebrate with a long soak in the bath, immersed up to my chin.

Asra had brought back mementos of a previous life. A necklace with a drop charm clumsily carved by my little brother, when he was just learning how to whittle as a hobby. He had been so proud when I strung the charm on twine and hung it around my neck. A fine cotton scarf woven with bright flowers that I used to tie over my hair for religious services. I loved the scarf even as I hated the practice. That was one reason I cut my hair off when I left home. Good riddance.

I managed well enough with what he brought. I think it even helped recalling and reassociating a memory with something tangible instead of nothing beyond a vague rush of emotions.

The miniature prayer book he placed carefully in my open palm was harder. It was covered in worn leather, the pages edged in gilt. A family heirloom that I had been shocked for my father to leave in Vesuvia with me. There were delicate illustrations throughout - saints and angels in fading ink - and I had loved looking through it so much when I was a child, playing with the way the archaic dialect rolled in my tongue. Maybe he wanted to remind me that there has been some beauty at least.

I had to give it back to Asra after a few minutes, let him wrap the book up in a silk handkerchief and carefully put it away. He sat next to me on the sofa, arm around my shoulders, and tucked my head under his chin. I didn't tremble, didn't fall uncontrollably back into the mixed emotions: sadness and nostalgia and longing and shame that I didn't even know whether my father is alive or dead. I had never replied to any of the letters from my family, and slowly, they arrived further and further apart.

“Do you think you’re ready to go back?” Asra asks softly.

“Yeah. Yes, I mean.” I lift my head off his chest. Julian sits at the other end of the sofa watching us both with solemn eyes.

“Are you sure, solnishka?”

“Putting it off any longer won’t help.”

* * *

Nadia offers a carriage, but I insist on walking, eager for another chance to stretch my legs somewhere other than the palace gardens. For the most part, I’m still anonymous within the city. The story of Lucio’s sudden appearance and disappearance are flying freely, but few outside of the palace staff and guard know much of the rest of the events of the evening. Just as well. I  _ don’t want _ to be a hero. Not unless I have to be.

Asra stops in the market to buy bread, while Julian and I toss back small, strong cups of coffee from the stall beside Selasi’s. The bitter liquid helps steady my nerves. Julian knocks back a second, and I suspect that he wishes it was liquor. I wish it was liquor.

I take a deep breath before I raise my hands to undo the warding spell on the door to the shop. Julian touches my back, offering wordless encouragement. My hands drop quickly and the door glows with the same spell that Anna placed on it years and years ago before I even arrived to complicate her life.

My eyes squeeze shut of their own accord as I step over the threshold. Thresholds, liminal spaces, those are places to be wary of - to enter with care. Or next thing you know you’ll be stranded in a spiraling tower. 

The front room, decorated with vibrant contrasting hangings. This is the shop itself, everything where it should be, where it’s been for ages. I can hear Anna’s voice in my ear, patiently reminding me where everything goes for those first confused weeks that I was with her - still a little drugged, still a little dead inside from when my father had kissed my forehead and told me he loved me, and he was leaving me here with a great aunt I'd never before met.  _ It will be better here. You’ll see. I’m so sorry. _ The bell on the door handle ringing, Asra stepping in with a smile, because for some reason he’d taken a liking to me.  _ Want to step out for a bit? _

_ Yes. Yes, I do. This place still feels like a trap. _ _ Take my hands. Pull me outside in the sun. Why are you being kind? _

There was only a curtain separating the back room from the front when I arrived, but Anna had a door installed within a week.  _ You'll want some privacy, of course, young woman. I may still need that cabinet there for storage though. _

Shelves of books. Not so many as the library at the university - that wonderful place where I could get lost reading for hours and hours theory about numbers and how they reflected the world around us, made sense of it, contained it, offered a way to control it. But new books, ones about healing. Healing, healing. What I needed then. What I need now.

A tiny cabinet of tiny drawers. They whine when I tug them open, swollen and sullen from the summer humidity because the spell that controls that only affects their precious contents.  _ Seeds _ .  _ A different type of magic. _ Little green growing things pushing their heads through the soil. Shouldn't be able to. So delicate.  _ So strong. _

I couldn't sleep. I couldn't sleep, so I kneeled between the beds of herbs at night, summoning a little light to hover by my shoulder, enough to see which plants shouldn't be there and which should, ripping out the invaders the way I wanted to rip out the thoughts that shouldn't be in my skull, the ones that wouldn't be silent.  _ Please, Asra, please. There has to be a way to make things quiet. Don't you know a way? _

The first time Asra and I made love. Giggling as a stack of pillows fell over the top of us, his face when my orgasm ended with a moan that turned deep, satisfied laugh.  _ No, honey, that's good _ . I held his face and kissed him seriously.  _ So good.  _ My mouth started moving down his neck, across his chest and stomach.  _ Lay down. Let me now. _

How the dust rose when I tossed blankets, pillows, the mattress itself out the window of the upper floor, because she's dead and Asra's gone, and there's nothing I can do but burn it.  _ Burn all of it _ . A hiss in the back of my head.  _ Burn it out of yourself until you don't feel anymore.  _ No. No. He'll be back.

_ I want to at least try.  _ Try to do some good. Even while everything burns down around me.  _ You hugged me. You didn't know me at all, and you came back. Hugged me. _

Books scattered on surfaces. This one. I remember it. Children's verses, illustrated. How I loved it from the moment you brought it back from the city.  _ Daddy, do they have more books like this one? I want to go there. _

Charms hanging from the ceiling.  _ To keep away bad dreams. Muriel made them for you. _

_ I can't dream if I don't sleep. _

_ You have to sleep, my love. _

A wrinkled hand on my forehead.  _ Child, you must sleep. _

_ I've slept too long. _

A strand of amber, warm in the sun, a gift for myself to remember a good day, an awake day, awake but not driven to move constantly, to talk too much, to say so many things I'll regret later.

A worn quilt. Crazy patches, different textures. I wrapped up in it and waited, running my fingers over the different fabrics, naming and unmaking, and  _ when will you be back, Asra? I’m running out of things to count, stitches to count, I’m scared of what will happen when I run out entirely. _

A pewter labyrinth that fits in the palm of my hand. Cool underneath my fingertip as I trace the path to the middle and then back out.  _ A gift. It made me think of you. _ How warm your eyes were that day! And your lips were soft when I kissed them.  _ I love you. I'm scared, so scared. I love you. _

_ You shouldn't love me.  _ The stones outside are drenched in sun and the rooster butts his head against my leg.  _ I'm mad. It's too much. I'm always too much. _

"Darling." Julian's hands close around my shoulder, and I turn into his embrace, struggling with a mix of sobs and laughter. It's too much. I'm too much, and all of it together is going to treat me apart. "What's going on? What are you feeling?"

I don't, I'm not - I'm not feeling anything. Or I feel everything, and I'm dissolving into it because the sum of the series converges so close to infinity and is so much more than I am, more than I can be, and I'll just be little dust motes riding from a long unopened book, floating in the air, golden in the sun. Exploding outward into nothing. Julian's arms around me help, but they aren't enough. Holding together, but I need more. Need something like a gravitational force dragging my scattered psyche back into my body.

Asra's arms slide around me. As Julian loosens his embrace, Asra presses his lips against the top of my head. "I've got you, love." He holds me close against him rocking back and forth, sliding his hands across my stomach. It's warm between him and Julian, warm and almost safe, and I can let my eyes fall shut. "It's a lot, I know. Let's curl up for a bit. Ilya?"

Julian lets go of me as Asra holds me closer. I don't open my eyes. There are small sounds of Julian moving things around, then the light touch of his fingers at my hips. Asra's hands slide to my elbows and then he lowers me down until I can fall forward into Julian's arms. "Hold on to Ilya right now, sweetheart."

Julian. Cedar shavings. Ink. Salt. Citrus and rum. He rearranges his legs and tugs me into his lap, and I have just about enough sense left to undo the rest of the buttons on his shirt and press close against his warm skin. Soft fingers sitting along my spine, even as the endings of the nerves branching from it feel like the fraying ends of a rope. He whispers soft syllables in my ear:  _ solnishka, liubov, I'm here, dorogaya. _

I start to tremble again, and then start to sob. He's done this before, held me together as best he could while my thoughts fell apart. Then taught me to dance once they had fallen back into place. He pulls me with him as he lays back against the pile of cushions behind him, still whispering endearments and stroking my back.

Asra tucks a heavy blanket around me and curls himself around my body. "You're safe, I promise." His lips brush against the back of my neck. "Just stay here, stay now with us. Just breathe for me."

I try. Really I do, but I only manage short gasps in between hiccuping sobs. It feels almost like being thrown back against a stone floor, chest paralyzed wrapped tight in burning suffocating chains... No.  _ No. No. No. _ That's over. It's over. Over. I'm not dead. I didn't die. Except I did. I died. There's a heart beating under my ear.  _ Not mine. _ Mine is ash scattered to the sand and the waves.

"Come back to me, my love. You're safe. You're with me, with Ilya." Asra curls his fingers around the curve of my stomach. "Here, dear heart, breathe into my hand. There you go."

Slowly, the sobs slow, come further apart, give my diaphragm a moment to draw in air, draw myself back into my exhausted center as Asra kisses the back of my neck and murmurs praises and encouragements in my ear. Tension I didn’t even realize I held in my shoulder relaxes under Julian’s patient hands, and he continues to whisper in my ear while exhaustion takes over and fades my vision to black. Poetry. Julian - sweet, romantic Julian - a poem or two memorized for every occasion. Even a crazy lover's breaks from time and place.

* * *

There are sunflowers all around me, heads nodding contentedly in the soft breeze. The tiny spines on their stalks bite at my hands as I reach out to push them aside and step forward. Hands that move too slowly, air dragging at my feet like syrup. Syrup pressed from stalks of sorghum by mules turning stubborn circles around a crank, bitter and sweet and melting over warm buttery biscuits on chilly fall mornings.

Marigolds blossom into flames of red and gold where my feet touch the moist earth, bursting through, unaffected by whatever drags at my limbs. No roaring. No howling wind. No roaring in my head.

The sunflowers finally open up onto a patch of soft green grass. A blanket is laid out on the ground, a little robes figure sits at one corner, a tarot deck spread out in front of them.

“You’re back.” The Fool flicks one card out from the arch, absently, like they were just waiting for me to join them. “Sit with me.”

Without speaking, I hold my legs under me opposite of them. They turn the card over, placing it sideways between us.  _ The Queen of Wands _ , once again neither upright nor reversed. Just there. I touch the edge of the card, longing to flip her upright, turn her reversed. Anything. Anything other than caught between the two states. Stranded in some liminal nightmare. About to fall off the edge of a cliff.

“So,” The Fool responds to the motion I didn’t make. “How do you plan to do that little one?”

“I don’t know.”

The Fool makes a sympathetic little noise and nudges two other cards out from their spread.  _ The Ace of Cups  _ and  _ The Chariot. _ “Are you ready to consider them?”

“I... maybe.” My hand is shaking as I reach for  _ The Ace of Cups.  _ It’s reversed, water draining from the cup, only to arc back up into some infinite source. Or perhaps it’s the opposite, water escaping down into the world, drawn up along with the dove by the power of the extended hand, caught up by some power greater than the force of gravity.

The Fool’s hands drift across the arc of cards. Their right pulls out two, followed by their left in quick succession, and they deftly arrange them into a diamond underneath the Ace. “And so, where do you find yourself?”

When I turn over the top card, I burst into laughter that somehow echoes off the sunflowers around us instead of being absorbed into silence.  _ The Eight of Swords _ looks back up at me, or rather, she doesn’t. She just trembles underneath her blindfold, hands behind her, about to cut themselves free, or just cut themselves open on the sword to which she’s bound.

“Funny?”

“If she falls forward, she’ll be face down in the mud. Does she even know that?”

“You seem to.”

“Mmm...” I turn over the next two cards - the ones that underlie all the emotions tangled in  _ The Eight _ . The Fool doesn’t even need to tell me that.  _ The Lovers  _ and  _ The Magician _ , both reversed. The only response I manage is a sigh.  _ The Lovers, _ so easily caught up in the Devil’s chains by their attempts to rescue each other. And  _ The Magician _ , who whether he intends to or not is forever throwing things out of balance as he attempts to fix it all.

“Sounds like you already know what they mean.”

“She certainly can’t become the Queen when she’s so lost. So ready to let others tell her what to do. Tell her who she is.”

“Probably not.” The cards change as the Fool touches them, shifting into a different deck, neither mine nor Asra’s.  _ The Queen _ becomes a foreboding goddess enthroned on shards of fiery glass. Her cat transforms as well, into a spotted cheetah tamed by the touch of her hand.  _ The Lovers _ are now a King and Queen, their union prescribed over by a hooded patriarch, hands held out either to bless them, or to dangle them like puppets on strings, and mirrored by two innocent children beneath.  _ The Magician  _ has almost transformed into  _ The Hanged Man _ , his dancing perch turning into a suspension in the air with the elements falling about him.

Only the  _ Eight  _ seems more hopeful. The bound woman is gone, replaced by a ladder of swords. Of course, a ladder made of blades is just as ready to destroy as it is to liberate. My right-hand runs over the twisted scars that cover my left arm. Yes. That’s a lesson I’ve learned well.

Above them all, the  _ Ace _ is an explosion of color, energy moving in and out of it simultaneously pulsing with life and giving all itself away.

“And the next card is where this leads, isn’t it?”

The Fool nods. I hesitate for a moment, unsure if I even want to see.

_ The Three of Swords _ a dark card no matter the deck, but this one seems even more forbidding than others. Dark water. A moment ago it would have been a mirror until three swords stabbed a rose through the surface. Petals fall away from the center, floating down into the abyss.

The wailing wind begins in my head again, and I squeeze my eyes shut tightly, unwilling to face the card any longer.

* * *

I open them again, back in the physical world where I'm wrapped up in a warm blanket and cradled against Julian with Asra wrapping his arms around me from behind. Warm. Safe, at least in a certain sense of the word safe. 

My hair is loosely braided down my back to keep it from tangling. My hanged men, my magicians, my lovers. I snuggle against Julian, and Asra mumbles something in his sleep as he curls himself against my back. My eyes fall closed again, too weary, too wrung out to try to put everything together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA: The second deck referenced is [the Thoth Deck](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thoth_tarot_deck).

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go again, kids! Third verse!


End file.
